"Just a little business matter." It was long, very long afterward that Kate learned, and fully realized, the significance of the indifferently spoken words; when she did, she wondered that a man's manner could so completely mask all that lay behind them. "He isn't hiring any men," she ventured, adapting a set phrase she had often heard Belle use. "And in spite of my looks," he returned, "I'm not hunting a job--for a wonder." But now that Kate wanted to hear more he took his turn at reticence. "Where are you from?" she asked as unconcernedly as she could. "Medicine Bend." "From the marshal's office?" It was foolish of her to ask. She fairly blurted out the words. He looked at her for the first time keenly--and just the change in his expression, undefinable but unmistakable, almost frightened her to death. "I was in the marshal's office yesterday," he answered, picking up a sandwich evasively. Kate was no longer doubtful. This was the man to serve the dreaded, summons. An instant of panic seized her. Fortunately her persecutor was regarding his stubborn coffee as he stirred it. Her heart, which had stopped, started with a thump. Her thoughts cleared. Instinct, self-preservation, asserted itself. She thought hard and fast. The first step was to temporize. He looked up in time to see the blood sweeping back into her cheeks; and almost spoiled the first really good breath she was drawing. In his lean, bronzed hands he clasped his cup of coffee as if trying to put a degree of heat into it: "What would be the extra charge for a shot at that hot tank?" he asked, directing his glance first at the other tank, then at Kate's burning face. With all his confidence, he must have been surprised at the revulsion of manner that greeted him. Kate recovered her poise--her coldness vanished, a smile broke through her reserve and her confused regret was promptly expressed: "Did I give you coffee out of the cold tank? How stupid!" "And never in my life," said her queer customer, as if continuing her words, "did I do anything mean to you." "Oh, yes, you did," objected Kate, coupling nervous haste with the declaration as she tried to take the cold cup from between his hands. The ease with which she assumed the role of a lunch-counter waitress astonished her. "What did I do?" he drawled, resisting her attempt to make amends. "You said I couldn't go out that door," she answered, refusing to be denied the cup. "I was hoping if you stayed a few minutes, you wouldn't want to." A moment earlier she would have been indignant. Now she reconciled herself to necessity. She was, indeed, wildly hoping she might be able to coax him not to serve any paper. And she had to repress an absurd laugh at the thought as she set a fresh and steaming cup before him.