Kurt remained in the office when the others had gone. Presently the clerk said to him: "Here comes Lamont now!" A slim, graceful-looking young man smoking a cigarette was just swinging in from the street. Instantly Kurt went forward to meet him. "Mr. Lamont?" he asked. "Yes," admitted the aviator warily. "My name is Walters. I'm from the ranch where Miss Lamont has been visiting. Are you her brother?" Lamont shook the ashes from his cigarette. "I beg your pardon," he replied coldly. "I have no sister." He passed on, leaving Kurt still at sea as to the relationship of the aviator and Pen. Then he heard Lamont addressing the clerk. "I want to leave an early call for the first east-bound." Kurt went out on the street. He could always think more clearly in the open, and he felt that he had much need for thought. Added to his other disturbing emotions was the most stinging one of jealousy. The truth that struck home was the knowledge that the supposed theft of the ring hadn't made him so wretched as the assurance that she loved another--was another's. He hadn't been jealous before--not of Jo nor even of Hebler, but he instinctively felt that this Romeo-like youth whom she had sought was the one who had the first claim. "He shall not have her!" he muttered when he had walked the streets for some time. "I'll take her from him--from everyone." He went to the little theatre to tell the Kingdons that he should remain in town all night. Kingdon could drive the car home and Hebler could run the racer. He walked into the little lobby. The bill boards showed him it was a wild and wholly western scenario, and he felt certain that no less than two performances would satisfy Billy's cravings. He went inside and stood scanning the well-filled house until he located his little party well up in front--children's choice of seats. He started down the aisle. The preliminary pictures of the cast were being shown. On the screen flashed the lines: THE THIEF or MEG O' THE PRAIRIES _By Bobbie Burr_ A picture of "Meg O' the Prairies" followed. Kurt turned and walked back to the last row of seats, the only ones vacant. The theatre was dark. An improvised orchestra was essaying something that sounded like strains of Dixie, Columbia, America and the Star-Spangled Banner combined, and the audience were continually standing up and sitting down, in a state of bewilderment and doubt as to which was the national air.