Swingley passed among the men, loudly solicitous of their welfare. Food was brought in, and there was some drinking. Several of the men were maudlin before Denver was reached. Others were at the quarrelsome stage. Swingley stopped several incipient gun fights, but otherwise let the men behave as they pleased. Bertram took no part in the drinking, though he joined an occasional game of cards. He was not inclined to depart from the letter of his bargain with Swingley, but he was thinking hard, as the train pounced over the desert, beside the long, blue chain of the Rockies.

Noticing his abstraction Swingley rallied Bertram about it. “Things’ll be more lively, soon after we leave Denver,” he said, pausing at the young Texan’s seat. “We’ve got some more people to meet there, and we’ll be tied up several hours. I want you to help me keep an eye on some of these drunken punchers, to see that they don’t wander away where we can’t get ’em.”

At Denver the motley crew piled off the special and swooped down upon the station. Swingley’s orders against “seeing the town” were strict, but some of the cow-punchers attempted to slip away and were turned back. It was evening, and, in the half-light on the station platform, Bertram thought he recognized a woman’s figure, as it flitted around the corner of the building. A few hasty steps brought him to the side of the young lady whose ticket he had purchased.

“I see that the ticket we got wasn’t counterfeit, and you arrived here, all right,” observed Bertram delightedly. He saw that she had smiled, as she greeted him, and she seemed genuinely pleased, in spite of the evident perturbation under which she was laboring.

“Yes,” she said, “but I’m afraid all your generosity has been in vain.”

“What’s the trouble? Is there any way I can help you further?”

Bertram was looking at her, as he spoke. Her face was pale, but evidently owing to the mental strain. Her eyes just now were clouded with sadness, and her voice trembled with agitation.

“You’ve done enough as it is,” she answered—“more than any other stranger has ever done for me. I’ve met friends here, and now I can pay you the money for my ticket.”

“I didn’t want you to bother about that,” said Bertram, as she opened her pocketbook and counted out the bills into his reluctant hand. “Settling this thing deprives me of a chance of meeting you again, unless you’re going to be kind enough to let me 

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