like dragon-flies on myrtle and moisture. Every pearl-handled author of noise is primed and ready. Every eye is focused on the dusty road-bend, two miles below. Bang! A fleecy white puff floated out from the rocks. McGill, on a pinnacle, had the long-range vista, and Barger raised his binoculars. "Sure, it's Reddy, boys. Now for it!"

"Hurrah, hurrah!" Excitement rang in every shout. "Speech," demanded "Speech," demanded Shorty. "Speech, Mr. President." "Speech!" chorused the members. Barger smiled and raised his hat. "Gentlemen, Backers, Range Riders," he began quizzically. "I am proud to be called your president."

"Gentlemen, this day we have given to him the apple of his eye, the desire of his heart. Without us, gentlemen, he could not have mustered courage to propose we all know that. And the lady, I should have explained, gentlemen, lacking nothing of that courage-God bless her and her reasons of state-fell in with our scheme. But, gentlemen, that very lack of courage in the man is the excuse for our being, for our presence here at this moment-er-it is only one reason, gentlemen."

A wild burst of laughter punctuated this qualifying remark.

"Order, order!" McGill rattled loudly on a kettle-drum. There were instruments galore piled against the rock, and "Three-Bar" riders knew how to play them.

Resumed Barger: "I hinted that there might be another reason. One year ago tonight, gentlemen, July 4th, seven p. m., and I have witnesses present who can testify that I, Blake Barger, boss of ThreeBar,' did bet Mr. Red MacArthur five hundred dollars that within the year be would propose and be accepted by the lady now on the seat of B. No. 2, beside him. Gentlemen, Mr. MacArthur took me on that he would not!"

"Hurrah!" Pandemonium broke loose, and the kettle-drum rattled in vain.

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" shouted Barger. "We have no time to squander.

The victim-victor approaches; and, gen- . tlemen, I desire to explain, in case there be ignorant among you, that the lady is not in on this part of the game. She is innocent, sweet, and dear to us all. She contributes merely to the soul-inspiring motive. She is in love with Reddy—I—I curiously enough I-I found that out."

Again pandemonium, and McGill deserted the kettle-drum for the bass.

"Gentlemen," ignoring the interruption, the speaker struggled on, "I desire also to affirm that Mr. MacArthur has forgotten about this bet. He is as innocent of remembrance today as a new-born babe. Have mercy, therefore, when he comes upon the scene. One thing more, gentlemen, and I think that you will agree that I have kept the pleasant tit-bit to the end-that five hundred dollars falls into the Backers' supper and entertainment fund. Gentlemen-"

It was useless for Barger to proceed; he could not hear himself, and McGill's efforts to back his chief were drowned in the ceaseless thunder of applause.

Bang! Tinker put the punctuation mark, and silence fell.

Round the rock-point corner came Reddv. Miss Waters, hatless and talking earnestly, was on the driver's seat beside him.

"Whoa! Hello, boys!" Reddy's exclamation was accentuated; all his glumness had disappeared. His eyes sparkled a welcome to all. "What you givin' us, now, boys?" he laughed.

Barger was surprised. This was not the nervous upset he had expected, but he gave the signal deftly, and Molly bounded from the shafts. Six Backers took her place, six more with musical instruments lined up in front. McGill and Tinker with the drums fell to the rear.

"Oh, Barger-er-er-I say-" Reddy rose to his feet, but Barger signed him down with a confident, 'Me first, Red, me first."

"Boys," he began, and Miss Waters' vivid blushes encouraged him to dispense with preamble, "boys," he repeated loudly, "I desire now-I should rather say that I am privileged now to introduce to you Mr. Red MacArthur and his-his fee-his promised Very suddenly Blake Barger paused. A quick flash of the girl's. eyes stemmed his eloquence. Her face

crimsoned as she motioned him to come closer. "No-no-oh! Mr. Barger," she whispered, "you-I-we-we are all terribly mistaken-that is he he has not proposed to me-I-" i

"What!" Barger tramped on his own toes. His face threw disappointment front and rear.

Bung! Involuntarily Tinker jabbed the big drum. Had he also made some awful mistake? "I'll bet Reddy kissed her," he whispered to McGill. "I saw 'im; I saw her, too!"

"Gentlemen," exclaimed Reddy, rising. The sparkle was still in his eye. "I think I'd better take the floor now, since Mr. Barger is out of order. There appears to be a mistaken impression that I have asked -er-that Miss Waters has promised to be-my wife." Reddy's flow of language was remarkable and direct for him. "She has not done so, gentlemen. Nevertheless, her heart is good, and her eyes are bright, I must tell you that in all my life I have not appreciated kindness more than that

which you have shown me today. This morning I was very miserable. Tonight, I am very happy. You-all have made me so, and I thank you from my heart. At half past seven, tonight, I propose that you assemble again in "Three-bar' barns and give to-to us-the ovation which I see you have so thoughtfully prepared. I -I am sorry indeed, gentlemen, to repress your exuberance at a time when I know it to be ripe, but circumstances compel me so to do. You see" and Reddy looked Barger full in the eyes-"$500 is not a small sum. It will buy a piany and certain kitchen utensils. A few minutes ago, gentlemen, when I heard your drum beats, I recalled that this might be the 4th day of July. Somehow-"

But Reddy's speech was cut short. Loud cheers, trombones, flutes and drums drowned his solemn words; and to the persistent strains of "Yankee Doodle came to town-Yankee Doodle, ha-ha-ha!" he entered the gates of "Three-bar" with courage and an appetite.

whatever, two pints of a pet vintage. flaunted his disregard for accepted ideas of deportment and morals by openly and persistently attempting to flirt with the wife of his host.

F. Percival Herne was apt to do these things. In fact, he had done them-and now, the week following that of his initial visit, having given the matter much consideration, he decided to drop in on the Windle home, knowing full well that Windle was this evening attending a banquet at a downtown club.

This same Jack Windle had, in time gone by, given and eaten big dinners, drunk excessively, gambled. done almost every

thing one is liable to do who becomes wealthy through no effort of his own. His thirty-fifth year found him a physical wreck, courage gone, and possessing practically nothing but a barren strip of Southern California farming land. Then from the ashes of his wasted fortune a new one was born-oil was struck on land that hitherto had seemed hardly worth its taxes, and with the acquisition of a new fortune Windle took new hope; but, having no new constitution to burn out, decided it high time to settle down. He built a pretentious home on a high and fashionable hill in San Francisco, and there brought his bride-Marian Wade that was a sweet, sentimental girl not long from a finishing school. It was she, not two years a wife, who met F. Percival Herne at the door.

After expressions of mutual regret because of the absence of "Jack," and expressions of mutual delight because of the presence of "Mrs. Jack," they adjourned to a sumptuous little red room"My Bohemian den," as madame chose to call it.

"I've spent a great deal of time and thought," explained Mrs. Windle, as she passed a jeweled cigarette case to her guest, "in planning and furnishing this little room. You see, it's for my artistic and literary friends. Cosy, don't you think, Mr. Herne?"

"Yes, indeed," said Herne.

"And my cosy corner-sympathetic color scheme, don't you think, Mr. Herne?" "Indeed," said Herne.

"And my "Persia,'" continued Mrs. Windle, indicating by a glance an Angora cat sleeping on a window seat. "She's so in keeping with my Persian tapestries, don't you think, Mr. Herne?"

"Yes," said Herne. "Yes, indeed. I was just about to remark-remark that if you wish, you might call me Frank, and I will address you as Marian; 'twill be so in keeping with our temperaments and surroundings."

Mrs. Windle reddened prettily. If she had a protest to offer, it remained unuttered, for cunning Percival, without a pause branched into a rapid-fire eulogy of the absent spouse; told what a splendid fellow he was, "so clever, so popular, so lucky," the while he gazed through a haze of Turkish tobacco smoke at the beautiful young wife, reclining on a gorgeous

settee amid a profusion of vari-colored sofa pillows. Then he talked of himself— and did it so well that impressionable Mrs. Windle felt so sorry for him, with his lonely bachelor apartments, his highly artistic temperament, and vulgar, unappreciative fellow clubmen, that she almost offered him a home with Jack and herself. She thought how jolly it would be, and how much he could assist her with her own literary work; they might even collaborate on a story of love letters.

Herne languidly tossed his half-finished cigarette to the center of a Daghistan rug, then deserted his chair for a more convenient position on the settee, where together they perused the contents of a scrap-book of sketches and bits of jingle that Mrs. Windle considered literature, and worth saving. Not a few were the efforts of "F. P. H.," rescued from wellmerited oblivion attendant on their publication in a society weekly; and one lonely one was her own! When that had been accepted and finally published in "The Tattler," little Mrs. Windle's heart almost burst for joy. She felt she was no longer an aspirant, but that she had at last deserved a rating as one who could do things.

"Do you know, Jack didn't even read it hasn't read it vet!" she tearfully exclaimed. "Oh, I do wish he had some appreciation of my efforts; some little interest in things other than oil. If he were only like like you."

Herne expressed his modesty with a deprecatory wave of the hand, which gesture Mrs. Windle misinterpreted.

"Oh, was it wrong of me to speak so?" she asked.

Herne nodded.

"Though I met you but last week," said Mrs. Windle, "I feel that I have known. you for years. Jack has known you for so long, and I have, too; of course, not personally but through your writings,-I never miss an issue of "The Tattler,'-and from your poetry I have come to know your character, your motives, your sincerity of purpose. I feel that I can trust you."

"Really, you are an exceedingly clever woman," said Herne.

"Now about Jack," pursued Mrs. Windle, "if he were only interested in the higher, nobler things of life, then I could

"Business is not a bad sort of thing," interrupted Herne, condolingly.

"But you don't understand-you won't understand me, is that it, Frank? Can't you see that my life is a void; there are none to praise when I succeed, and none to condole when I fail. It's sympathy I'm starving for. You cannot dream how happy I am because you chanced to call this evening. I feel that you are going

to be so much to me."

"My duty is my pleasure," said Herne. "You are so good, so kind, so thoughtful," murmured Mrs. Windle.

"So good-so kind-so thoughtful?" echoed Herne.

Herne surprised himself when he suddenly arose from the settee and started to pace the floor of the Bohemian den. He did not speak, for he was thinking deeply; perhaps of what a deplorable state of affairs it would be if Jack Windle were

like himself; perhaps of a lonely, repentant woman in Honolulu, whose husband had resided temporarily in South Dakota; or, possibly, he recalled a romantic girl whose wise mamma had placed a whole wide ocean between her daughter and a certain writer of sentimental verse. Suddenly he turned, with a stern expression, to his puzzled hostess.

"Mrs. Windle," he said deliberately, "you have very foolish ideas. Your enthusiasm is leading you astray. Don't make any more silly attempts at verse writing. Don't want to be 'Marian Wade Windle, nor even 'Mrs. Jack Windle'; be plain 'Mrs. John Windle.' Be happy with your husband; he's a good one- don't want him to be other than he is. And," Percival continued, with fierce earnestness, "give up this damnable idea of wanting to be unconventional-it's not becoming to you. Give up cigarettes-you don't like them. Leave them to unfortunates who do. Clean out this cosy corner, and put in good, straight-backed furniture. Banish Bohemia-it would be only absurd if it were not so dangerous. Try to forget yourself, and be a wife for your husband; you're too normal to be a genius." Herne paused.

Poor little Mrs. Windle. For all her year of Bohemian life, she was as yet a tender flower, and when the light came

"You!" she cried hysterically; "you, whom I thought my best friend, and to talk so to me! You don't know my life, nor what it should be. Oh-Oh, you're a brute!" Then she flung herself face downward back among the pillows and burst into bitter, convulsive sobs.

At about the time J. Percival Herne and Mrs. Windle were having their most unpleasant moments in the Bohemian den, a very tired horse, digging his calked shoes between the cobblestones of the Powell-street hill, was slowly, yet surely, dragging a cab up toward the Windle home. At every jolt of the vehicle its occupant moaned, and sometimes he emphatic an attack of acute indigestion as swore; for John Windle. was nursing as ever forced a man to leave a dining table.

The stable connected with the Windle

establishment is of no consequence in this tale, nor are the bob-tailed horses therein stabled, but James the Second, who supplanted James the First in the care of

those horses and shared with him the affections of Margaret, the house-maid, is of consequence. Now, James the Second, believing Margaret had come to him with the job, was not at all averse to assumJames the First could not perceive that ing this additional responsibility; but the affections of maid and position of groom necessarily went together, and was reluctant to cease his attentions; and Margaret-Margaret could not make up her mind, or, mayhap, she appreciated the value of James the First as a spur to James the Second, or vice versa. At any rate, she smiled on both. The dual courtship was great fun for her, but both Jameses were equally resolved that it should be no partnership affair.

It is pertinent that it be known that Margaret received in the kitchen or on the the vine-covered, screen-enclosed rear veranda, as the occasion demanded, and when the coast was clear, in the dearest precinct of the house-the sumptuous little red-room-Mrs. Windle's Bohemian den. There James the First-or Second, which ever it chanced to be told of the home, suggested by the surroundings, that he would provide for his dear one when he had won the capital prize hung up by a company that invariably takes its monthly fee out of every servant's wages.

From his station in the stable James the Second had this night seen his inamorata and his rival enter the house by way of a rear door, and as is the wont of jealous lovers, drew hasty conclusions and deemed it time to act. He tore off his coat and, with fury increasing at every step, hurried to the house. The rear veranda was deserted; the gas was burning low in the kitchen. Save for the ticking of the clock, absolute silence reigned. With stealthy tread the groom made his way to the unlighted dining room. There he stopped and listened. From the front regions of the house came the low murmur of subdued conversation.

"By the siven candles!" ejaculated James, "so 'tis there ye be, me foine bye." Trembling with rage and excitement he slipped off his shoes and, feeling his way around the table, tip-toed across the polished floor toward a front entrance to the dining-room. The doors were but partially closed, and through the aperture James saw a soft red glow streaming from the Bohemian den across the hallway floor. He heard nothing now. Then the silence was broken by faint, yet distinct, exclamatory protest.

James waited in his corner, shivering. His presence was ignored. Creeping cautiously over to the door again, he stooped and listened. Subdued, yet unmistakable, there came from the red room the irresistable call for a cavalier-a woman's bitter sobbing.

"I'm comin', Margaret, me darlint!" shouted James, and dashing apart the doors he bounded down the hallway and into the Bohemian den.

F. Percival Herne realized no pain. He knew that when he started to rise there was an awful shock. Flickering lights danced before his eyes, then all grew dark. A pleasant feeling of warmth came over him, and there was a sound as of running water. He knew not his assailant, nor reason for the attack.

It was the avenging groom who suddenly awoke to the fact that Margaret and his rival were not his companions in the rose-colored room-for, the coast not be ing clear, Margaret and her Jamesie had found it necessary to go elsewhere to coo-and not till then did it occur to the fighting James that the pair must have left by way of a side door, the existence of which he, in drawing hasty conclusions,

had ignored. And it was this same fighting James who ultimately realized that he had felled to the floor the guest of his mistress.

And it was Mrs. John Windle who, with burning cheeks and tearful eyes, arose in really dignified pose and sharply said:

"James, what are you doing in the house at this hour?"

While James was cudgeling his brain in vain attempt to drag forth an answer that would explain his presence to the satisfaction of Mrs. Windle, the front docr banged, the portieres parted, and John Windle, groaning and miserable, stepped into the Bohemian den.

Mrs. Windle fainted.

James was hurried to the dining-room for stimulants. When he returned he had framed the following explanation:

"The varmint insoolted the mistress, sor, an' I felt it me jooty to interfere."

First

What did Windle do? What could he do? What was the best thing to do? Probably just what Windle did. he saw that his wife was placed safely upon the Oriental settee, well bolstered with the vari-colored sofa pillows. Realizing her preference to remain in a faint. he delicately gave in to her unspoken wishes, and turned his attention to Herne. He poured some liquor between the bruised lips, bathed the clammy forehead, and when the fellow finally came back to earth, assisted him with hat and coat, then without word or kick, passed him out into the night.

The next morning at ten a very miserable little woman, faint, and sick at heart, timidly ventured to where her husband lay resultant of his previous night's indulgence.

quavering voice, "I must tell you the "John-John, dear," she said in a

whole truth about it."

"Needn't bother; I'll hear it in detail. at the club. I'll gamble it's already there."

But it wasn't. And it did not reach the club till six months later, when the story. having gone the servants' route, finally came out through a member of the Waiters' Union. And then it was said that Jack Windle had been thrashed by his butler for trifling with the affections of the housemaid-and there was none to deny it.