opening or closing of a door and the infrequent sound of feet on the
sidewalk. She forgot the hazards of the day in dreaming of the West; no
longer a picture out of books, but a reality. She scarcely noticed the
quiet figure that came round the opposite corner and passed into the
shadows of the jail across the street. She heard the clink of a chain
and a sharp, tearing sound as of wood being rent asunder. She peered
from her window, trying to see what was going on in the shadows.

Presently a figure appeared. The hat, the attitude, and manner seemed
familiar. Then came another figure; that of the tramp. She grew tense
with excitement. She heard Lorry's voice distinctly:--

"The best thing for you is to fan it. Don't try the train. They'll get
you sure if you do. No, I don't explain anything. Just ramble--and keep
a-ramblin'."

She saw one of the figures creep along the opposite wall and shuffle
across the street. She felt like calling out. Instead she rose and
opened her door. She would tell her mother. But what good would that do?
She returned to the window. Lorry, standing on the street corner, seemed
to be watching an invisible something far down the street. Alice Weston
heard the sound of running horses. A group of cowboys galloped up. She
heard the horses stop. Lorry had disappeared.

She went to bed. It seemed an age before she heard him come in.

Lorry undressed in the dark. As he went to bed he grinned. "And the
worst of it is," he soliloquized, "she'll think I did it because she
asked me to let him go. Guess I been steppin' on my foot the whole
dog-gone day."