No one was astir in the lower town, save himself and the night watchman. Now and then he passed a dim light burning--here a low-turned burner in store or bank building; there the brighter glow of lamps behind the ground glass of some saloon door. Halfway up the long street leading to the upper town he heard the rumble of an incoming train. Was Number Two on time, after all? Was a pitying Fate taking matters away from him, and into its own hands? Was escape being offered him? If he hurried--if he ran--he could reach the station in time, but--alone! There would be no time to go back for Gloria Howard. He almost yielded for a moment to the coward’s impulse to shrink from responsibility, but the thought of Kathryn Verrill, waiting by the eastern sea for a message to come from the man she loved, roused him to his better self. He resolutely slackened his pace till the minutes had gone by wherein he could have become a deserter; then he went on up to the station. “No, that was a freight train that just pulled out,” said the telegraph operator. “Number Two will be here pretty soon, though. Less’n half an hour. She’s made up a little time now.” Keith went to the office counter and began to write. It was not a long letter, but it told all there was to say: “Sid: I have wired to your wife to come to you, and I have signed your name. By the time this reaches you she will be on her way here. It will be wiser, of course, for you to assume the sending of the message, and to give her the welcome she will expect. It will be wiser, too--if I may offer suggestions--to travel about with her for a while; to go away from this place, where she certainly would hear of your unfaithfulness should she remain. Then go back with her to your friends, and live out the balance of your life, in the old home, as you ought. I know you will feel I am not a fit one to preach, for I myself am going away tonight, taking Gloria Howard with me. I know, too, how you will look at what I am doing; but I have neither excuses nor explanations to offer. Bayard Keith.” That was all. When he had sealed and directed it, he went to the livery stable and waked up Pete Dudley. “See here, Pete,” he said, “I want you to do something for me.” “Sure, Mr. Keith!” said Pete, rubbing his eyes. “Here’s a letter for Mr. Williston out at our camp in Porcupine Gulch. I want you to take it to him, and take the buckboard, too.” “All right, I’ll go in the morning.” “No, no! Listen! Not till day after tomorrow. Wait, let me think---- You’d better wait a day longer----go the next day. Do you understand?” “I guess I savvy. Not till Friday. Take the letter and the buckboard. Is that the racket?” “Yes, that’s what I want, Pete. Here! Take them to him without fail on Friday. Good-night, Pete. Good bye!”