On this particular evening they were sitting on the western porch, a bit withdrawn, as usual, from the groups of idling summer people. At the end of the porch a low-branching fir grew so close to the building that its nearer twigs, swayed by the gentle breeze sliding down from the heights of Qojogo, made little tapping sounds to break the silence of the mountain night. Under the low-hanging branches of the fir the big St. Bernard belonging to the hotel proprietor was curled up; at least David Vallory thought it was the dog--had reason to think so since it was the St. Bernard’s nightly sleeping-place. “Something ought to be done,” was the young woman’s agreement with the sharp-stick suggestion. “How will you go about it?” It was at this conjuncture that the sleeping dog stirred uneasily, but David Vallory did not look aside. “A man named Dargin is the head and front of things over there. If he were run out, the smaller fellows could be handled without much trouble. I’ve been hesitating between two methods of getting at Dargin. I suppose the simplest plan would be to walk over there some day and tell him that he can have twenty-four hours in which to settle up his affairs and vanish.” Miss Virginia’s exclamation was a little shriek. “The idea!” she said. “Do you suppose he would go away for anything like that?” “He would if it were properly backed up; if I should tell him, for example, that if I had the job to do over, I’d do it with a gun.” “Mercy me! This is the ‘other David’ with a vengeance! Do you really mean it?” “Why shouldn’t I mean it? If the argument of force is the only one that would appeal to him----” “But you’d be killed! I’ve heard the most awful stories of this man. He wouldn’t give you the slightest chance. Promise me that you won’t do any such recklessly foolish thing!” “I shan’t, if you don’t want me to; though it’s much the simpler way to go about it. The other way is to write a personal letter to President Ford of the railroad company. I don’t know him, but my father does, and he is a good man--a clean man. I am practically certain that if he knew the conditions he’d use the railroad company’s power to clean up the camp--the power given it by the land leases. But that is enough about the job and me and my little insanities. I must hike back down the hill to my blankets. I know you’d be yawning if you were not too polite.” She got up to walk with him to the porch steps, and at the good-night moment he said: “Where are you going to let me take you to-morrow?” “Before I pick the place I’m going to ask you once more why you have been so persistently refusing to take me to the big tunnel. Don’t you know that I simply adore tunnels?”