“No,” said Constance, “you never thought.  You didn’t know.”  She spoke bitterly.

Ellsworth sank down in a chair, his hands in his pockets.  “Well, we’re whipped,” said he.  “The game’s up.  That fellow Anderson did us up, after all,—­and look here, here’s the money he threw back, almost in my face.  They went with him like so many lambs.  Confound it all, I don’t more’n half believe I ever understood that fellow.”

“No, you never did,” said Constance, slowly.  She was sitting upon the edge of the bed, gazing at her father quietly.  “And so he threw away his chance?”

“Just what he did.  Said it meant a lot for him to throw away his future, but he was going to do it.”

“Did he say that?” asked the girl.

“Sure he said it!  There’s not going to be any railroad at Heart’s Desire; and incidentally Mr. Daniel Anderson isn’t going to be mayor, or division counsel with a salary of ten thousand dollars a year.  Oh, well, to-morrow we’ll pull out of here.”

Constance was deliberate with her reply.  “One thing, dad, is sure,” said she; “when we go, you and I go together.  Let Porter Barkley take the stage to-morrow if he likes.  You and I’ll go back by way of Sky Top; and we’ll go alone.”

Ellsworth pursed his lips into a whistle, many things perplexing him.  “He’s lucky to get away at all,” he remarked at length.  “From what he said, it looks like there’d be more trouble.”

“Trouble!” She flung out her hand in contempt.  “There’ll be no trouble if it waits for him to make it.  If I know Porter Barkley, he’ll know enough to stay right there in his room.  If he does not—­”

“By Jinks!  Dolly,” exclaimed her father, “you remind me all the time of your mother.  I never could fool that woman; and no one ever could scare her!”

She looked at him without reply, and though he stroked her hair softly, he departed in discontent, his own head bowed in reflection.

Meanwhile, out in the long street of Heart’s Desire, little groups of men gathered; but they held to the sides of the street, within the shelter of angles and doorways.  In the centre of the street there paced slowly up and down, his hands behind his back and not fumbling his weapon, a tall figure, with head bent slightly forward as in thought, although with eyes keenly watching the door of the hotel.  Uncle Jim Brothers himself had brought out word of Barkley’s threatenings, and according to the only known creed there was but one issue possible.  That issue was now awaited decently and in order.  The street was free and fair.  Let those concerned settle it for themselves.  Incidentally, Heart’s Desire was willing that its question should be settled at the same time.  Here was its champion, waiting.

The watchers in the street grew restless, but nothing happened to interrupt their waiting.  Upon the side of the house nearest them, lights shone from three windows.  Presently one of these, that in the room of Constance Ellsworth, was extinguished.  A second window blackened; Mr. Ellsworth had retired.  The third light disappeared.  Porter Barkley, not yet exactly of the proper drunkenness to find courage for his recently declared purpose, had concluded to go to sleep instead.