“Of course I do. The prospect looks a whole lot better to me than the prospect of your finding any animals or bugs out on the desert.” “You don’t know a whole lot about the desert, do you?” he asked, dryly. “No. Do you?” “A little.” Tompkins puffed at his pipe rather hard for a moment, frowning at the sunset, then he came to a halt, and turned to the girl with an air of decision. “See here, Miss Gilman, really I don’t want to intrude into your affairs, but I think that you’re going ahead rather blindly. Are you all alone here in town?” “Yes.” Her eyes dwelt on his strong, rather harsh features, with questioning scrutiny. “But I’ve lived on ranches, I’ve taught school, I have some money saved up—and really, Mr. Tompkins, I’m able to look out for myself.” “No, you’re not,” he said quietly. Suddenly a look came into his eyes that made the girl catch her breath, so furious and deeply filled with passion was it. “You’ve got to get out of here!” he exclaimed with abrupt anger in his voice. “You don’t know what sort of a place this is—what sort of men are centered around here! There’s a gang of the vilest murderers somewhere about Stovepipe Springs that ever saw the light of day! The whole place is a decoy-trap for the unwary—for people like you! If that town knew what my real name was, what my errand is here, my life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel.” Startled by his vehemence, sobered by his words; the girl met his gaze for a moment, then frowned. “Why do you speak this way?” she demanded calmly. “I think you’re far off the mark, Mr. Tompkins. I’ve met everybody since arriving yesterday. They’re good, simple people—ignorant if you like, but at heart really fine. I’m afraid you’re an un-American sort of person. Do you regard everybody outside of New York with the same savage intolerance? Do you think that because nobody speaks French in Stovepipe Springs, everybody is a poor hick?” Tompkins stared at her for a minute. “Good Lord—my dear girl, get me right!” he exclaimed. “I mean literally what I say. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I know what I’m talking about.” “What, then—bands of outlaws and robbers?” She smiled ironically, and the smile stung Tompkins. “Something like that, yes.” “Then I simply don’t believe you,” she said with quiet finality. “Shall we go back now?” “As you prefer. I hope you don’t have any cause to remember my warning with regret.” To this she made no response, and they returned in silence to the hotel, Tompkins inwardly cursing his very undiplomatic way of presenting the warning. Upon nearing the hostelry, they encountered Mose Pincus, an earnest, alert little man who kept the general store, and he immediately cornered Miss Gilman with a request that she send all orders for chicken equipment through his agency. Tompkins went on alone to his own place, and when the lamp was lighted, he picked up his newspaper and went definitely to work. He knew what to look for now.