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“What a singular life! Is he satisfied with it?”

“He says he is. He declares he is never so happy as when he is leading a pack-horse across the range.”

“I don’t wonder you like him,” she said, thoughtfully. “But you should do your part. Don’t let him be always the giver and you the taker. I’m afraid you shirk on him a little, Fred.”

“Why? What makes you think that?”

“Well, your hands are pretty soft for a working miner.”

He met her attack bravely. “You don’t suppose we do all the pick work in the mine, do you?”

“No. I don’t see how you could possibly do any of it. Come now, Freddy, ”fess up.’ You’ve been playing the gentleman in this enterprise and all this make-up is for our benefit, isn’t it?”

Young Morse saw that the safest plan was to admit the truth of her surmise. “Oh, well, I never did have any hand in the actual mining, but then there is plenty of other work to be done.”

Her answer was sharp and clear: “Well, then, do it! Don’t be a drone.”

Something very plain and simple and boyish came out in the young gambler as he walked and talked with his mother and sister, and Kelley regarded him with some amazement and much humor. It only proved that every man, no matter how warlike he pretends to be in public, is in private a weak, sorry soul, dependent on some one; and this youth, so far from being a desperado, was by nature an affectionate son and a loyal brother.

Furthermore, Kelley himself felt very much less the tramp and much more “like folks” than at any time since leaving home ten or fifteen years before. He was careful to minimize all his hobo traits and to correspondingly exalt his legitimate mining and cattle experiences, although he could see that Morse had made Florence curious about the other and more adventurous side of his career.

Florence was now determined to make a study of the town. “I like it up here,” she said, as she looked down over the tops of the houses. “It interests me, Fred; I propose that you keep us all night.”

“Oh, we can’t do that!” exclaimed her brother, hastily. “We haven’t room.”

“Well, there’s a hotel, I should hope.”

“A hotel–yes. But it is a pretty bad hotel. You see, it’s sort of run down–like the town.”

This did not seem to disturb her. Rather, it added to her interest. “No matter. We can stand it one night. I want to see the place. I would like to see a little of its street life to-night. It’s all so new and strange to me.”

Kelley, perceiving that she was determined upon this stop-over, and fearing that the attempt to railroad her out of town on the afternoon train might add to her suspicions, then said:

“I think we can find a place for you if you feel like staying.”

Morse was extremely uneasy, and Florence remarked upon it. “You don’t seem overflowing with hospitality, Fred. You don’t seem anxious to have us stay on for another day.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, it’s a pretty rough old village, Flo–a pretty rough place for you and mother.”

“We are not alarmed so long as we have you and Mr. Kelley as our protectors,” she replied, smiling sweetly upon Tall Ed.

They had reached the car-line by this time, and were standing looking down the valley, and Fred, pulling out his watch, remarked: “You just have time to make that three-o’clock train. That will connect you with the night express for Los Angeles.”

“Fred, what’s the matter with you?” queried his sister, sharply. “You seem absolutely determined to get rid of us at once.” Then, seeing that she had perhaps gone a little too far, she said, with a smile, “Mother, isn’t he the loving son?”

The youth surrendered to her will and dropped all opposition. He appeared to welcome their decision to wait over another day; but Kelley busied himself with thinking how he could ward off any undesired information which might approach the two women–the mother especially. It would be quite wonderful if, with another twenty-four hours to spend, Florence did not get Fred’s secret from him.