"Block didn't send that letter--or write it," he said, sliding his long body under the blanket. "How do yuh know?" came in muffled tones from Scotty. "He ain't got the brains. No sir, some gent in Paradise Bend sent that letter, an' I think I know his name." "Who is he?" Scotty was plainly striving to keep awake, and making a poor job of it. "I'll tell yuh after we get back to the Bend." Next morning, while the east was yet lemon and gray, the thunderous clamour of a beaten dish-pan reverberated through the hotel. The hideous din ceased abruptly, and the voice of the landlord became audible. "Yuh half-witted idjit! Don't yuh know better'n to beat that pan when there's a lady in the house? Dish-pans is for common folks, an' don't yuh forget it! Now you hump yoreself upstairs an' bang on her door right gentle an' tell her the stage is due to pull out in a hour." "Must be a real lady," commented Loudon, when a door at the other end of the corridor had been duly rapped upon. "Must be," said Scotty in a singularly joyless tone. "Yuh couldn't hear what she said to the feller. Reg'lar female ladies always talk so yuh got to ask 'em to say it again, they carry fancy-coloured umbrellas when the sun shines, an' they pack their gold specs on the end of a stick. They watch yuh eat, too. I know 'em. Yuh bet I do. "I met a pair of 'em once when they was visitin' at the Seven Lazy Seven. They made me so nervous a-lookin' at me that I cut the roof o' my mouth three times with my knife. Reg'lar ladies don't make me feel to home nohow. I'm goin' down now an' eat before this one scampers in an' spoils my appetite." So saying, Scotty almost ran from the room, buckling on his cartridge-belt as he went. The drummer was at the table when the two Flying M men sat down. An impressive person was the drummer. He was known in his own circle as a "perfectly elegant dresser." If the tightest of tight-fitting suits, the gaudiest of shirts, the highest of collars, an explosive cravat, two watch-chains, a bartender's curl, and a perpetual leer made for elegance, that drummer was elegant to a degree. The three had nearly finished breakfast when there came a tapping of quick heels on the stairs. Scotty Mackenzie groaned. The drummer hastily patted his curl and broadened his leer. Loudon raised his eyes and gasped audibly. His knife and fork rattled on the plate. For the woman entering the room was Kate Saltoun. "Good morning, Tom," said Kate, brightly, quite as if she and he, the best of friends, had parted the previous evening. The nonplussed Loudon mumbled unintelligibly, but accomplished a passable greeting by the time Kate had seated herself directly opposite. The drummer glanced contemptuously at Loudon, and, with a flourish and a killing ogle, handed the bread to Kate. Miss Saltoun helped herself, nodded casual thanks, and bestowed a ravishing smile on Loudon.