had she known. Anyway, I followed them, close in the shadow.

Wright was unusually gay. I saw him put his arm around her without
remonstrance. When the music recommenced they went back to the house.
Wright danced with Sally, not ungracefully for a man who rode a horse as
much as he. After the dance he waved aside Sally's many partners, not so
gaily as would have been consistent with good feeling, and led her away.
I followed. They ended up that walk at the extreme corner of the patio,
where, under gaily colored lights, a little arbor had been made among
the flowers and vines.

Sally seemed to have lost something of her vivacity. They had not been
out of my sight for a moment before Sally cried out. It was a cry of
impatience or remonstrance, rather than alarm, but I decided that it
would serve me an excuse.

I dashed back, leaped to the door of the arbor, my hand on my gun.

Wright was holding Sally. When he heard me he let her go. Then she
uttered a cry that was one of alarm. Her face blanched; her eyes grew
strained. One hand went to her breast. She thought I meant to kill
Wright.

"Excuse me," I burst out frankly, turning to Wright. I never saw a
hyena, but he looked like one. "I heard a squeal. Thought a girl was
hurt, or something. Miss Sampson gave me orders to watch out for
accidents, fire, anything. So excuse me, Wright."

As I stepped back, to my amazement, Sally, excusing herself to the
scowling Wright, hurriedly joined me.