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The three men lined up in front of the closed door, and one of the deputies quickly threw it open. For an instant the officers stood motionless with weapons drawn. Billy watched with fascinated eyes; the moment the door opened forgot orders, ran and crouched behind the Sheriff, peering under his uplifted arm. There in the lurid firelight that streamed through the closed window, stood the two men he had seen before, hands up, rigid, staring into pistol barrels. Floor boards were torn up; strange vessels, scales, various paraphernalia Billy could not understand, lay about them; while in a deep hole they had dug, a small, iron-bound chest was partially covered with earth. The men’s faces were smutched, streaming with perspiration, and pale with terror.,

He sat by the table in his dressing-room with angry storm-swept countenance. He had been capturing loud plaudits with his rag-time, until intoxicated with success, he swept into a tornado of music by Moskowski. The applause died away; two ladies in the front row began chatting. The enraged artist jumped from the piano-stool, and shouting “Pigs!” raced from the platform.,

Oh, where have you been, charming Billy?”,

Through the Stygian darkness of the loft loomed the figure of Mrs. Wopp, a white apron of huge dimensions indicating her presence. She made as though to descend the ladder.

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“Oh, no; there aren’t any. Billy says so, and he knows. He knows, too, that there are other people here beside the Italians.”,

“Her hand would be as pretty as any one’s if she didn’t have to work so hard,” Billy thought loyally; and promised himself again that the first money he earned should buy his mother a diamond ring.,

He had left his traps,—the fight had sent all else flying out of his mind. No matter. He could set them in some vineyard. Already the short grass on the hills was brown, and many of the wild flowers were past their blooming. The rabbits would be seeking the tender green of the vines, the purpling alfalfa, standing lush and sweet, ready for mowing.,

“Three you should say. Don’t you live in the dreamland of music? Eat your own breakfast, or you’ll be late for the train.”