the middle of the afternoon he was at a boarding-house on Cherokee Street inquiring for Miss Rose McLean. She was out, and the landlady did not know when she would be back. Probably after her sister got home from work.
Lane wandered down to Curtis Street, sat through a part of a movie, then restlessly took his way up Seventeenth. He had an uncle and two cousins living in Denver. With the uncle he was on bad terms, and with his cousins on no terms at all. It had been ten years since he had seen either James Cunningham, Jr., or his brother Jack. Why not call on them and renew acquaintance?
He went into a drug-store and looked the name up in a telephone book. His cousin James had an office in the Equitable Building. He hung the book up on the hook and turned to go. As he did so he came face to face with Rose McLean.
"You—here!" she cried.
"Yes, I—I had business in Denver," he explained.
"Like fun you had! You came because—" She stopped abruptly, struck by another phase of the situation. "Did you leave Cheyenne without riding to-day?"
"I didn't want to ride. I'm fed up on ridin'."
"You threw away the championship and a thousand-dollar prize to—to—"
"You're forgettin' Cole Sanborn," he laughed. "No, honest, I came on business. But since I'm here—say, Rose, where can we have a talk? Let's go up to the mezzanine gallery at the Albany. It's right next door."
He took her into the Albany Hotel. They stepped out of the elevator at the second floor and he found a settee in a corner where they might be alone. It struck him that the shadows in her eyes had deepened. She was, he could see plainly, laboring under a tension of repressed excitement. The misery of her soul leaped out at him when she looked his way.
"Have you anything to tell me?" he asked, and his low, gentle voice was a comfort to her raw nerves.
"It's a man, just as I thought—the man she works for."
"Is he married?"
"No. Going to be soon, the papers say. He's a wealthy promoter. His name's Cunningham."
"What Cunningham?" In his astonishment the words seemed to leap from him of their own volition.
"James Cunningham, a big land and mining man. You must have heard of him."
"Yes, I've heard of him. Are you sure?"
She nodded. "Esther won't tell me a thing. She's shielding him. But
I went through her letters and found a note from him. It's signed 'J.
C.' I accused him point-blank to her and she just put her head down on
her arms and sobbed. I know he's the man."
"What do you mean to do?"
"I mean to have a talk with him first off. I'll make him do what's right."
"How?"
"I don't know how, but I will," she cried wildly. "If he don't I'll settle with him. Nothing's too bad for a man like that."
He shook his head. "Not the best way, Rose. Let's be sure of every move we make. Let's check up on this man before we lay down the law to him."
Some arresting quality in him held her eye. He had sloughed the gay devil-may-care boyishness of the range and taken on a look of strong patience new in her experience of him. But she was worn out and nervous. The pain in her arm throbbed feverishly. Her emotions had held her on a rack for many hours. There was in her no reserve power of endurance.
"No, I'm going to see him and have it out," she flung back.
"Then let me go with you when you see him. You're sick. You ought to be in bed right now. You're in no condition to face it alone."
"Oh, don't baby me, Kirby!" she burst out. "I'm all right. What's it matter if I am fagged. Don't you see? I'm crazy about Esther. I've got to get it settled. I can rest afterward."
"Will it do any harm to take a friend along when you go to see this man?"
"Yes. I don't want him to think I'm afraid of him. You're not in this, Kirby. Esther is my little sister, not yours."
"True enough." A sardonic, mirthless smile touched his face. "But
James Cunningham is my uncle, not yours."
"Your uncle?" She rose, staring at him with big, dilated eyes. "He's your uncle, the man who—who—"
"Yes, an' I know him better than you do. We've got to use finesse—"
"I see." Her eyes attacked him scornfully. "You think we'd better not face him with what he's done. You think we'd better go easy on him. Uncle's rich, and he might not like plain words. Oh, I understand now."
Wild Rose flung out a gesture that brushed him from her friendship.
She moved past him blazing with anger.
He was at the elevator cage almost as soon as she.
"Listen, Rose. You know better than that. I told you he was my uncle because you'd find it out if I'm goin' to help you. He's no friend of mine, but I know him. He's strong. You can't drive him by threats."
The elevator slid down and stopped. The door of it opened.
"Will you stand aside, sir?" Rose demanded. "I won't have anything to do with any of that villain's family. Don't ever speak to me again."
She stepped into the car. The door clanged shut. Kirby was left standing alone.
CHAPTER V
COUSINS MEET
With the aid of a tiny looking-glass a young woman was powdering her nose. Lane interrupted her to ask if he might see Mr. Cunningham.
"Name, please?" she parroted pertly, and pressed a button in the switchboard before her.
Presently she reached for the powder-puff again. "Says to come right in. Door 't end o' the hall."
Kirby entered. A man sat at a desk telephoning. He was smooth-shaven and rather heavy-set, a year or two beyond thirty, with thinning hair on the top of his head. His eyes in repose were hard and chill. From the conversation his visitor gathered that he was a captain in the Red Cross drive that was on.
As he hung up the receiver the man rose, brisk and smiling, hand outstretched. "Glad to meet you, Cousin Kirby. When did you reach town? And how long are you going to stay?"
"Got in hour an' a half ago. How are you, James?"
"Busy, but not too busy to meet old friends. Let me see. I haven't seen you since you were ten years old, have I?"
"I
