flaunting scarf around her throat, groped her way to the door, and
glided into the outer darkness.




CHAPTER VII


It was quite dark when Mr. Jack Brace stopped before Father Wynn's open
door. The windows were also invitingly open to the wayfarer, as were
the pastoral counsels of Father Wynn, delivered to some favored guest
within, in a tone of voice loud enough for a pulpit. Jack Brace paused.
The visitor was the convalescent sheriff, Jim Dunn, who had publicly
commemorated his recovery by making his first call upon the father
of his inamorata. The Reverend Mr. Wynn had been expatiating upon the
unremitting heat of a possible precursor of forest fires, and exhibiting
some catholic knowledge of the designs of a Deity in that regard, and
what should be the policy of the Legislature, when Mr. Brace concluded
to enter. Mr. Wynn and the wounded man, who occupied an arm-chair by
the window, were the only occupants of the room. But in spite of the
former's ostentatious greeting, Brace could see that his visit was
inopportune and unwelcome. The sheriff nodded a quick, impatient
recognition, which, had it not been accompanied by an anathema on the
heat, might have been taken as a personal insult. Neither spoke of
Miss Nellie, although it was patent to Brace that they were momentarily
expecting her. All of which went far to strengthen a certain wavering
purpose in his mind.

"Ah, ha! strong language, Mr. Dunn," said Father Wynn, referring to the