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“Heaven and heavens!” murmured Lin McLean. “So you’re her kid!”

He relaxed again, down in his chair, his legs stretched their straight length below the chair in front. He was waked from his bewilderment by a brushing under him, and there was young Billy diving for escape to the aisle, like the cornered city mouse that he was. Lin nipped that poor little attempt and had the limp Billy seated inside again before the two in discussion beyond had seen anything. He had said not a word to the boy, and now watched his unhappy eyes seizing upon the various exits and dispositions of the theatre; nor could he imagine anything to tell him that should restore the perished confidence. “Why did yu’ lead him off?” he asked himself unexpectedly, and found that he did not seem to know; but as he watched the restless and estranged runaway he grew more and more sorrowful. “I just hate him to think that of me,” he reflected. The curtain rose, and he saw Billy make up his mind to wait until they should all be going out in the crowd. While the children of Captain Grant grew hotter and hotter upon their father’s geographic trail, Lin sat saying to himself a number of contradictions. “He’s nothing to me; what’s any of them to me?” Driven to bay by his bewilderment, he restated the facts of the past. “Why, she’d deserted him and Lusk before she’d ever laid eyes on me. I needn’t to bother myself. He wasn’t never even my step-kid.” The past, however, brought no guidance. “Lord, what’s the thing to do about this? If I had any home–This is a stinkin’ world in some respects,” said Mr. McLean, aloud, unknowingly. The lady in the chair beneath which the cow-puncher had his legs nudged her husband. They took it for emotion over the sad fortune of Captain Grant, and their backs shook. Presently each turned, and saw the singular man with untamed, wide-open eyes glowering at the stage, and both backs shook again.

Once more his hand was laid on Billy. “Say!” The boy glanced at him, and quickly away.

“Look at me, and listen.”

Billy swervingly obeyed.

“I ain’t after yu’, and never was. This here’s your business, not mine. Are yu’ listenin’ good?”

The boy made a nod, and Lin proceeded, whispering: “You’ve got no call to believe what I say to yu’–yu’ve been lied to, I guess, pretty often. So I’ll not stop yu’ runnin’ and hidin’, and I’ll never give it away I saw yu’, but yu’ keep doin’ what yu’ please. I’ll just go now. I’ve saw all I want, but you and your friends stay with it till it quits. If yu’ happen to wish to speak to me about that pistol or bears, yu’ come around to Smith’s Palace–that’s the boss hotel here, ain’t it?–and if yu’ don’t come too late I’ll not be gone to bed. But this time of night I’m liable to get sleepy. Tell your friends good-bye for me, and be good to yourself. I’ve appreciated your company.”

Mr. McLean entered Smith’s Palace, and, engaging a room with two beds in it, did a little delicate lying by means of the truth. “It’s a lost boy–a runaway,” he told the clerk. “He’ll not be extra clean, I expect, if he does come. Maybe he’ll give me the slip, and I’ll have a job cut out to-morrow. I’ll thank yu’ to put my money in your safe.”

The clerk placed himself at the disposal of the secret service, and Lin walked up and down, looking at the railroad photographs for some ten minutes, when Master Billy peered in from the street.

“Hello!” said Mr. McLean, casually, and returned to a fine picture of Pike’s Peak.

Billy observed him for a space, and, receiving no further attention, came stepping along. “I’m not a-going back to Laramie,” he stated, warningly.

“I wouldn’t,” said Lin. “It ain’t half the town Denver is. Well, good-night. Sorry yu’ couldn’t call sooner–I’m dead sleepy.”