Swiftwater saw that sign and gently laughed to himself. “Mrs. Beebe,” he said, “I am going to have some fun with the boys. So if I come to borrow some money from you, don’t be foolish and refuse me.” Swiftwater had some few hundred in cash, but most of his money was in drafts, which he could not cash on the boat. When I found that the boys had started a little poker game, I expected Swiftwater to be coming to me for money in a little while, and sure enough he did. “Swiftwater,” I said, “as long as you play poker you can’t have any money from me, because you know you can’t play poker. But if you will start a solo game I will let you have a little change.” Now, Swiftwater swelled up visibly because he knew that I thought he was one of the best solo players in all the North, and I have to laugh even now to recall that after the first fifteen minutes of play at solo the men who had sought to fleece him of his money, found they had no chance and they all stopped the game. It was late Saturday afternoon when finally the Ohio poked her nose in front of one of the docks in Seattle. There was a strong ebb tide, and it was nearly an hour before the gang plank was run ashore. We docked jam up against a little steamer on our left, and Swiftwater, being in a hurry to get ashore, asked me if I would take his grip in the carriage to the Cecil Hotel and he would join me in a little while, after he could get a shave. With that Swiftwater jumped to the deck of the little steamer next to us and thence to the dock and was gone. I went direct to the Cecil Hotel, where Bera was waiting for me. Before I had been there a half hour the newsboys on the streets were crying the sale of the Seattle Times: “All about Swiftwater Bill arrested for bigamy.” I heard the shrill voices of the urchins from my window in the hotel and I said: “Bera, what have you done--had him arrested?” I rang the bell and told the bell-boy to bring up a copy of The Times. Sure enough, there was the whole story of a warrant issued for Swiftwater Bill on the charge of bigamy and a long yarn about his various escapes in Alaska, including a recital of how he ruined the life of young Kitty Gates, his niece, by eloping with her and marrying her while he was still the lawful husband of Bera. Just about dusk--I think it must have been at 8 o’clock that evening--there came a knock at the door. I went to answer it, and there in the hall of the hotel stood a man who was an absolute stranger to me. “Mrs. Beebe?” “This is Mrs. Beebe.” “Swiftwater wants to see you. I am Jack Watson, who used to be with him in the north.” “Where is he?” I asked. “I can’t tell you where he is, Mrs. Beebe,” said the man, “but if you will go with me I can find him.”