“He sha’n’t do anything that I don’t know about till he goes to bed,” Fred promised.  “But how the deuce did he know that you had those letters?”

That was just what we were all puzzling over, for only the occupants of No. 218 and myself, so far as I knew, were in a position to let Mr. Camp hear of that fact.

As Fred made his exit he said, “Don’t tell Madge that there is a new complication, for the dear girl has had worries enough already.”

Miss Cullen not rejoining us, and Lord Ralles presently doing so, I went to my own car, for he and I were not good furniture for the same room.  Before I had been there long, Fred came rushing in.

“Camp and Baldwin have been in consultation with a lawyer,” he said, “and now the three have just boarded those cars,” pointing out the window at the branch-line train that was to leave for Phoenix in two minutes.

“You must go with them,” I urged, “and keep us informed as to what they do, for they evidently are going to set the law on us, and the G.S. has always owned the Territorial judges, so they’ll stretch a point to oblige them.”

“Have I time to fill a bag?”

“Plenty,” I assured him, and, going out, I ordered the train held till I should give the word.

“What does it all mean?” asked Miss Cullen, joining me.

I laughed, and replied, “I’m doing a braver thing even than your party did; I’m holding up a train all by my lonesome.”

“But my brother came dashing in just now and said he was starting for Phoenix.”

“Let her go,” I called to the conductor, as Fred jumped aboard; and the train pulled out.

“I hope there’s nothing wrong?” Madge questioned, anxiously.

“Nothing to worry over,” I laughed.  “Only a little more fun for our money.  By the way, Miss Cullen,” I went on, to avoid her questions, “if you have your letters ready, and will let me have them at once, I can get them on No. 4, so that they’ll go East to-night.”

Miss Cullen blushed as if I had said something I ought not to have, and stammered, “I—­I changed my mind, and—­that is—­I didn’t write them, after all.”

“I beg your pardon—­I ought to have known; I mean, it’s very natural,” I faltered and stuttered, thinking what a dunce I had been not to understand that both hers and Lord Ralles’s letters had been only a pretext to get away from the rest of us.

My blundering apology and evident embarrassment deepened Miss Cullen’s blush five-fold, and she explained, hurriedly, “I found I was tired, and so, instead of writing, I went to my room and rested.”

I suppose any girl would have invented the same yarn, yet it hurt me more than the bigger one she had told on Hance’s trail.  Small as the incident was, it made me very blue, and led me to shut myself up in my own car for the rest of that afternoon and evening.  Indeed, I couldn’t sleep, but sat up working, quite forgetful of the passing hours, till a glance at my watch startled me with the fact that it was a quarter of two.  Feeling like anything more than sleep, I went out on the platform, and, lighting a cigar, paced up and down, thinking of—­well, thinking.