Gratton's wife--Mrs. Gratton----He had done that! She walked on blindly; tears gathered, tears of mortification, of blazing anger. But they did not fall; she dabbed viciously at her eyes. Why had he done that? _Why?_ Never a "why" so insistent in all of the girl's lifetime. Never a moment of such blind wonder. "Howdy, miss?" a voice was saying. It brought her back to earth from a region of swirling vapours, back to to-day and Coloma. She stopped and looked at the man, startled. He was a stranger, yet dimly familiar. The little store, his own round face, his shirt-sleeves and boots---- "I wanted to ask," he said solicitously, "how your father was this morning." "My father?" she repeated dully. "Oh, he's quite well, thank you." Plainly her words puzzled him. He squinted his eyes as though to make sure of her. "You're the young lady that stopped in here one day last spring with Mark King? June it was, wasn't it? You bought some stuff for lunch." "Yes," she admitted. She would never have remembered him. But he, who had not seen others like her, remembered. "Then you're Ben Gaynor's girl?" "Yes," she said again, and was about to go on, resenting his persistent meddlesomeness. "And you say he's _well_?" "Quite well, I believe," she said coolly. "But wait a minute," he called after her. "Wasn't he bad hurt last night?" "Papa hurt?" "I supposed that was why you was here----" "How hurt?" she cried sharply. "When? Where? Tell me; why don't you tell me?" He looked at her in wonder. "All I know is just what I heard. And you know how news gets itself all twisted up travelling half a mile. I _heard_ he got hurt at old Loony Honeycutt's last night. Right bad hurt, they said. But I was just asking you----" "Where is he?" she cut in excitedly. "Now?" "Didn't you just come out of the hotel?" He looked more puzzled than ever. "Wasn't he there?" "How do I know? Was he taken there?" He nodded. "Leastways I heard he was. Last night----" Gloria did not wait for more. She turned and ran back to the building she had quitted only a moment ago, bursting into the front room, demanding earnestly and in words that came with a rush: "Is my father here? Is he hurt?" "Your father? Hurt----Say, you ain't Ben Gaynor's daughter, are you?" "Yes, yes. And papa----" "They had a doctor over from Placerville last night. He's coming back again this morning some time." "Take me to papa. Quick!" said Gloria imperiously. "You should have told me the minute I came." "But I didn't know----" "Quick!" repeated Gloria. He showed her to the room, only three doors beyond her own. He moved to open the door but Gloria's hand was first to the knob; she opened and went in, closing the door softly. She was trembling, frightened, dreading, oppressed by fear of what might be. Though both windows were open the shades were drawn, the light was dim. She made out a man's form on the bed; there was a white bandage about his head. He stirred and turned half over.