V

THE GIRL WHO GUARDED HER LIPS

The brown eyes of the victor watched the tramp out of sight and for
some moments surveyed the nick in the undergrowth where the fellow had
disappeared.

There was no anger in the eyes. There had been none while their
possessor had been pummeling the wretch. He had beaten the man up in a
calm, methodical and perfectly business-like manner.

When at last he turned and looked at the clothing he smiled whimsically.

"The perambulating pork-barrel thinks I am crazy," he mused, looking at
the frock-coat. He had stripped that garment from his shoulders and had
tossed it on a bush when he had decided on combat. "If I should stop to
argue the matter with myself just now I should find myself flattering
his good judgment. I have robbed a poor devil for a whim. Thank God,
I went at it brutally and frankly. There was no 'high finance'
sneak-thieving about that job. I sent him away with his face smarting.
They sent me away with my soul black-and-blue."

He gathered the garments, picked up the shoes, put the hat on top of the
pile on his arm, and went farther into the woods, following the course
of a tiny stream of water. This stream led him to a pool. It was
tree-bordered, it was a center gem in a dim alcove in the forest, it was
as secret as a private chamber. The pool was glassy, for the winds were