She flushed a little, but her eyes dwelt on his. “I—I need the money it would bring at twenty cents,” she faltered. “And yet—look here, Mr. Bowen! I suppose you’re a very busy man and I have no right to ask it—” “I’m not busy,” said Bowen bitterly. “I’m on a vacation. I’ll do anything you ask.” “I was wondering if—if you would let me indorse the stock over to you, and then you could act as you think best. Either sell it, or bargain for a higher figure—” She paused, her grave eyes intent upon his lean-muscled face. “If it’s too much to ask of you,” she went on, “please say so. I don’t want to make you trouble or to impose on you, Mr. Bowen; you’re been altogether too good in wasting this much of your time on me—” “Wasting it? Great Jehu! I was just kicking myself for wasting so much time in not knowing you—I mean,” he added confusedly, “for not having wasted a little time in the past—no, I don’t mean that either. Well, if you’re willing to trust me, I’ll do my best in the matter! Where’s the stock?” “I have the certificates here,” and the girl turned to the desk, but not quickly enough to hide the new tide of crimson that had welled into her face. It was not hard for any young lady to see that Bob Bowen of Tonopah was flustered. And Bob Bowen, as this young lady knew very well, had the reputation of never being flustered by anything or any one. Why should she not blush, at such an unspoken compliment? III—A QUICK SALE. On the following morning Bob Bowen did not at once leap up and dress, nor did he disturb the morning paper. Instead, he lay quiet and frowned at the ceiling. “No doubt at all about it,” he reflected. “She never said a word about it, of course. She’s not that kind. Just the same, it was there. It was in her eyes. Fear! She was afraid of something. That’s why she gave me that stock in trust.” Instinct told him that he was right. Instinct had warned him from his first sight of Alice Ferguson that she was afraid of something. She had appealed to him for advice, yes; but fear had driven her further than she had first meant to go. Bowen had seen that hidden fear ere this, but not in the eye of a woman. It angered him. What the devil was she afraid of? Rather—of whom? The answer was to Bowen quite obvious. Bowen had no use for brokers anyway. That hound of a broker who had visited her, had made some kind of threats, or had said something which put fear into her. Bowen swore to himself and looked at the time. It was seven thirty. “I’ll do it,” he muttered, and opened his paper to the mining and stock page. Instead of an obscure paragraph, he found that Apex Crown had leaped into prominence. The reasons, however, were entirely unknown. On the previous day some eight thousand shares had changed hands in San Francisco, and the price had closed at five cents bid, none offered.