“I might--if I didn't understand all about that--you know? As it is I want to show you that I'm grateful, and my experienced eye informs me that you arrived in a box car. An empty furniture car, I should say, judging by that scrap of excelsior in your back hair, although the car might have been loaded with crockery.” Mr. Hennage removed the evidence and gazed at it reflectively. “I suppose, now, if that'd been a feather, you'd a-swore I flew in.” “Possibly. You've been a high flyer in your day, haven't you?” Mr. Hennage grinned. “I've flew some, but I've come home to roost now. How's the old savage down at the Hat Ranch?” “Sam Singer is unchanged. Nothing ever changes in this country, Mr. Hennage.” “Nothin' but money,” he corrected, as he fished a bill out of his vest pocket, “an' money sure changes hands, more particular when I'm around.” “Are you going back to the Silver Dollar saloon?” “Yes, I suppose so.” “Faro, roulette, black jack, coon can or craps?” “The old game--faro.” “I'll bank you up to five hundred.” “That's not the right thing for a young lady to do, is it?” queried the gambler. “Havin' truck wit' my kind o' people. Me--I'll do anything, but a young lady, now--” “Please do not compare me with Mrs. Pennycook” Donna pleaded. “I am not the guardian of San Pasqual's morals. I'll stake you because I like you and I don't care who knows it--if you don't.” “You're a brick” the gambler declared. “I don't need your money, you blessed woman. I'm 'fat'” and he waved a thousand-dollar bill at her. “I did ride into San Pasqual on a freight, but I did it from choice, an' not necessity. The brakie was an old friend o' mine an' asked me to ride in wit' him. But all the same it's grand to think that there's women like you in this tough old world. It helps out a heap. You're just like your poor mother--a real lady an' no mistake.” Donna blushed. She was embarrassed, despite the earnest praise of Harley P. She gave him her hand. He took it with inward trembling, lest she might be seen shaking hands with him and dishonored. She said good-night. “Walkin' home alone?” Harley P. was much concerned. “Not that I'm fishin' for an invitation to see you safe to the Hat Ranch, because that'd start talk, an' anyhow I ain't one o' the presumin' kind an' you know it; but it's dark an' the zephyr's blowin' like sixty, an' if there was one hobo on that freight I come in on there was a dozen.” “Why, I didn't realize it was so late,” Donna answered. “I'll have to wait until the moon comes up. But I never walk home when I'm kept late. The division superintendent lends me the track-walker's velocipede and I whiz home like the limited. There isn't any danger, and if there was I could outrun it. Do you wish to register before I go, Mr. Hennage? I suppose you'll want your old room?”