"What makes you say that? In your telegram you made me believe everything was all right," Harper said, as he leaned against the newel-post. "So 'twill be if you listen to some one that knows summat 'bout women. If you chase chickens they run like wild-fire 'n' ye can't catch 'em unless you get 'em in a corner. But if you holds out your hand with a little feed, by 'n' by they eat right out of it." Harper laughed. "That's what you think, is it?" "I know," Bill chuckled. "You oughter heard what she said to me." Bill loved to think that he knew something the other fellow would like to know. Even his sympathy with Harper and his desire to see all well between him and his wife could not contain him when it came to holding out in a matter of mere curiosity. "I was goin' to tell you, but I'd better not," he added, with a wise look. "'Twan't very encouragin'," he added. Harper walked away from the stairway, his arm through Bill's. "Don't you think you'd better tell me?" There was real concern in Harper's voice and Bill knew it was the expression of the anxiety in his heart. Too, Bill knew that it required tact to approach Mrs. Harper in her present hysterical mood. So he answered, with a brusk shake of his head, "Nope." "Well, of all the damned-fool things!" Harper stood still, letting go of Bill's arm. "I wouldn't call her that," Bill remonstrated, moving away from Harper with a quick look of astonishment. "Who's calling her that?" Harper paced up and down, a scowl on his face. "I mean the whole situation. It's such a silly mistake. And yet she won't believe it." "Same here." There was a warm sense of comradeship in the same sad cause in the air with which Bill made his last remark. It brought Harper to a standstill. With a smile he listened to the old man's explanation. "Folks don't believe nothin' I tell 'em. Women never do believe you when you tell 'em the truth, but tell 'em a lie 'n' they swallows it hook 'n' bait. Why don't you write her a letter? Ef she knows yer here 'n' ain't too anxious ye got a good chance." "I believe I'll do that. It sounds like a good scheme. Give her a chance to think things over instead of running in on her all of a sudden. Have you got a room?" Harper went to the Nevada desk and took up the pen to register, but Bill interrupted him. "Come on over here," Bill nodded to the California desk, following his own gesture to a place back of the counter. "We always got plenty of room on this side." "Where's the bar?" At this question put by Harper, Bill's head struck an interesting and inquisitive attitude. "Down to the saloon," he said. But he was doomed to disappointment. "Never mind, then," was Harper's disheartening reply. Bill's interest slackened, but was quickly revived as Harper, in the middle of scribbling a note to his wife, looked up long enough to add, "I've got a flask in my bag."