Lightnin'

"Indeed!" cried Thomas, in a tone of pleasant surprise.

"Nope. I was the only man he would let look out."

Thomas laughed effusively and gently tapped Bill on the back. "Capital!" he exclaimed. "You must tell me some more later on. And you've got to come to town with me some time, Mr. Jones. But" – and for a moment he turned his brilliant smile on Millie and Mrs. Jones – "I've been thinking ever since supper of that great idea of yours about turning this place into a hotel for the broken-hearted. Really, I've given much serious thought to it, as I was telling your wife just before you and Miss Buckley joined us. I am so interested in you all that I hate to act like a damper, but I have very grave doubts about it being a paying proposition. And then I fear none of you have taken into consideration the vast amount of work, preparation, and alteration the scheme will entail. Now, as you are doing this to – er – well, to improve the financial yield of the establishment – you have flattered me by deeming me worthy of your confidence, Mrs. Jones, so perhaps I need not hesitate over words – it seems to me that we might find some other and easier way of accomplishing the desired object – "

"Hello, Lem! Come an' set down," called Bill, calmly interrupting the above flow of words and addressing a tall, rather impressive and distinguished-looking man of about forty who had come up the veranda steps.

"How's it goin' Lem?" Bill asked. He turned his eyes on Thomas. "Lem's runnin' fer superior judge o' Washoe County at the fall election."

Mrs. Jones and Millie greeted Townsend cordially and the girl placed a chair for him while he turned to shake hands with Thomas, who had recovered his slightly shattered poise and risen gracefully. Townsend shook hands genially, but there was a lurking frown in Raymond Thomas's eyes – more than a suggestion that he was annoyed at the interruption, and, for reasons of his own, resented the presence of another person on the veranda. His dazzling smile was at work, however.

"It is a pleasure to meet the future legal light of Washoe County!" he said.

"That's right – better make yourself solid with him now," said Bill, throwing away the remains of the cigar and bringing out his tobacco and papers. There was something in his voice that somehow did not bring a laugh.

"Why, daddy!" cried Millie. "I don't think that's funny at all!"

Bill merely glanced at her and went on rolling his cigarette. Thomas had given Bill a keen, puzzled look; but no one could ever tell from Lightnin's expression whether or not any special meaning lay back of his words.

Mrs. Jones created a diversion. Eagerly she imparted Bill's great idea to Townsend and their intention of carrying it out at once. Millie joined in and asked him if he would help. He declared himself at their immediate disposal.

"I'm very glad you are going to do it, mother!" he said. "In my judgment, it is an excellent solution of your problem. You will recall that I suggested this – "

"But I beat you to it, Lem!" Bill cut in quickly. "Forethought and execution is the whole carnage!"

Raymond Thomas had been listening closely. If there was disapproval and annoyance at the turn things were taking, it did not show in his face.

"But are you sure this venture will pay these good friends of ours, Mr. Townsend?" he asked, in a tone of grave doubt. "Those divorce people – they are mostly women, you know – are generally on short rations, though they have been used to having a lot of money to spend. I'm afraid they'll demand comforts and luxuries that will run expenses into big figures, and they won't want to pay enough to make a reasonable margin of profit."

"I am certain it will pay splendidly!" replied Townsend. "Look at the Reno hotels! Oh yes, I strongly advise our friends to tackle it!"

Thomas frowned slightly. "Perhaps you are right, Mr. Townsend. I presume you have investigated the matter. But there is another point to consider. I don't think – well, personally, I do not think it is altogether a good plan to – to bring women of that sort into contact with women like Mrs. Jones and Miss Mildred."

He turned to Millie, his expression one of delicate concern and appeal.

"It's fine of you to speak like that, Mr. Thomas," she said, flushing slightly, "but mother and I have talked over all that. We do not mind. And, besides, I don't think it right for us to feel that way about it. I'm sure most of those women are nice – and maybe they need just the sympathy and care we can give them."

Lemuel Townsend, on hearing Thomas's statement, had sat bolt upright. "Sir," he said, in tones of personal injury, adjusting his glasses and eying Thomas from head to foot, "I think that a rather broad and sweeping statement for you to make. Miss Mildred is perfectly correct in her surmise. I must remind you that I am a Nevada attorney. I have known, in my life, many of these young women, and I have found them most estimable!"

"Ye like 'em, don't you, Lem?" remarked Bill, chuckling.

Townsend flushed; he looked appealingly at Mrs. Jones and Millie, his judicial manner gone. It must be confessed that Millie suppressed something resembling a giggle.

"You old fogies up here in the mountains have the wrong idea!" Townsend said, turning to Bill. "Why should two people be hitched together when they are pulling in different directions? That doesn't get them any place." He rose and reached for his hat on the veranda rail. "Well, I must be off. I'll get to work at once, Mrs. Jones. The Reno papers shall have your ad. to-morrow, and I'll get busy on some other things at once."

The two women rose, profuse in their thanks, which he smilingly waved aside. With a nod to Bill, and a rather formal bow to Thomas, he went down the steps.

Thomas resumed his seat and his dazzling smile; there was nothing in his manner to show that he had been thinking quickly. He crossed his legs easily and drew out another cigar.

"Have you ever thought of selling the place, Mrs. Jones?" he asked, suddenly.

"Why – why, no! Can't say as we have!" she answered, evidently surprised. "An' I don't know as we could if we wanted to. Ain't much call for a place like this, Mr. Thomas!"

"But you can't always tell about these things, my dear lady," said Thomas, addressing himself exclusively to Mrs. Jones. "It might not be so hard to find a purchaser, and at a good price, too."

"I – I don't think Bill would like to sell," she replied, doubtfully. "Would you, Bill?"

Her husband made no reply. He sat gazing straight ahead, his eyes half shut as usual.

"Perhaps Mr. Jones is indifferent on the subject," Thomas resumed. "Now I am sure that if he felt that you and Miss Mildred were well provided – "

"Say, you're kinder full of ideas yourself, ain't you?" Bill interrupted, unexpectedly turning and bringing his thin, unshaven face close to the other man's, quite unwonted force and anger in his manner.

"Daddy!" Millie cried, while his wife stared at him.

The anger left his face and the old, shrewd, humorous light crept back into his eyes.

"I don't believe in more 'n one idea at a time," he said, grinning. "No – I guess mother an' me an' Millie 'll try out that little busted-heart notion o' mine first, afore we tackles any other notions. Guess I'll turn in, mother – had a kinder tall day. Look sorter all in yourself. Better come along. Tirin' business, havin' ideas. If Mr. Thomas 'ain't been entertained ernough, maybe Millie 'll stay down an' keep the show goin'." And he got up slowly, stuck his hands in his pockets, and ambled into the house.

"I think we'd better go in, too, mother," said Millie, rising. "I know you're just fagged out, and it's late, anyway. You won't mind if we leave you to finish your cigar, Mr. Thomas, will you?"

"Not at all! Not at all!" Thomas exclaimed, with his smile. "A thousand pardons for keeping you up so late – it was thoughtless of me!"

He sprang to the screen door, held it open for them, and called a cheery "Good-night!" as they disappeared up the stairs. Then he sat down again and thoughtfully finished his cigar. He appeared to have a lot to think about, to figure out. When finally he went up to his own room a light burned there for an hour longer.

In the morning Bill Jones was up and about unwontedly early. He got himself some breakfast, then went to the little desk where the few boarders habitually left the letters they had written the night before for the outgoing mail, which he took to the post-office. He found some half-dozen letters on the desk this morning, and he examined the addresses deliberately. One in particular seemed to interest him immensely. It was in a handwriting he had seen before and recognized as that of Raymond Thomas. He put a finger to his cheek and gazed up at the ceiling – which is the same as saying that Bill Jones was making a careful mental note of the name and address on that letter. It was addressed to one Everett Hammone, the Golden Gate Land Company, San Francisco. It was quite obvious that Bill Jones had a strong desire to know the contents of that letter; but he dropped it carelessly among the rest, bundled them up with a string and stuffed them in his pocket as he strolled out of the house on his daily journey.

Out on the trail a bit, his ambling feet came to a pause. He took out his tobacco and papers and rolled a cigarette. Lighting it, he turned around and gazed up the mountain, his eyes blinking in the morning sunlight as they rested on the dot that was John Marvin's cabin. For a moment it seemed as if Bill had it in mind to change his direction and go up the mountain.

"I sure would like to have er talk with John," he mused. "Sure would. 'Ain't had a talk with him for some time. But I guess as John is pretty put to it with that there timber proposition – things must be gittin' some excited up there! Maybe I'll go up to-morrer."

And having characteristically decided to do it to-morrow, Bill continued his morning stroll toward the post-office.

CHAPTER III

For reasons obvious and otherwise, Bill Jones did not carry out his intention of visiting John Marvin's cabin "to-morrow." In spite of himself, Bill naturally was drawn into the vortex of work and preparation necessary to turning his home into the Calivada Hotel. The period of change was a nightmare to Bill, the only leaven in his misery being the astonishing fact that he actually evolved quite a number of ideas – ideas which Mrs. Jones, Millie, and Lem Townsend not only O.K.'d, but put into instant execution – and found exceedingly workable. He made many attempts to disappear from the premises, but his wife, or Millie, or Lem always had an eye on him and managed to frustrate his hasty sorties or more subtle schemes to take French leave. This went on day after day, and now Bill had endured nearly six weeks of more or less pleasantly enforced captivity.

In the mean time the mysterious "excitement" up the mountain about which Bill had mused that morning on the trail had come to a head, and John Marvin's little cabin seemed to be the center of it.

It was shortly after sundown one evening that a big, red-headed lumberjack, obviously a Swede, put his head in the door of the cabin and glanced quickly around the one room. Seeing that there was no one inside, he entered, closing the door behind him. Going to the window, he looked out through the thick grove of pines and cedars, but evidently could see no one. He was breathing hard, as if from running, and he sank into a chair.

His rest was short-lived. There was a rap at the door, which was instantly pushed open, and a lanky, sinewy man in sombrero and riding-breeches, with two revolvers at the belt, strode in. The Swede, on his feet in an instant, recognized the intruder as Nevin Blodgett, sheriff of Washoe County.

"What you want?" the lumberjack asked, in his heavy voice.

The sheriff did not answer at once, but took a quick survey of the cabin's contents, his eyes lighting up as they rested upon the unwashed dishes on the table, telling of a recent meal. There was a self-satisfied swagger about the sheriff as he walked up to the Swede.

"You're John Marvin, ain't you?" he demanded.