Aldous turned to Joanne.  He knew what this town meant.  It was the first and the last of its kind, and its history would never be written.  The world outside the mountains knew nothing of it.  Like the men who made up its transient life it would soon be a forgotten thing of the past.  Even the mountains would forget it.  But more than once, as he had stood a part of it, his blood had warmed at the thought of the things it held secret, the things that would die with it, the big human drama it stood for, its hidden tragedies, its savage romance, its passing comedy.  He found something of his own thought in Joanne’s eyes.

“There isn’t much to it,” he said, “but to-night, if you made the hunt, you could find men of eighteen or twenty nationalities in that street.”

“And a little more besides,” laughed Blackton.  “If you could write the complete story of how Tete Jaune has broken the law, Aldous, it would fill a volume as big as Peggy’s family Bible!”

“And after all, it’s funny,” said Peggy Blackton.  “There!” she cried suddenly.  “Isn’t that funny?”

The glare and noisy life were on both sides of them now.  Half a dozen phonographs were going.  From up the street came the softer strains of a piano, and from in between the shrieking notes of bagpipe.  Peggy Blackton was pointing to a brilliantly lighted, black-tarpaulined shop.  Huge white letters on its front announced that Lady Barbers were within.  They could see two of them at work through the big window.  And they were pretty.  The place was crowded with men.  Men were waiting outside.

“Paul says they charge a dollar for a haircut and fifty cents for a shave,” explained Peggy Blackton.  “And the man over there across the street is going broke because he can’t get business at fifteen cents a shave. Isn’t it funny?”

As they went on Aldous searched the street for Quade.  Several times he turned to the back seat, and always he found Joanne’s eyes questing in that strange way for the some one whom she expected to see.  Mrs. Blackton was pointing out lighted places, and explaining things as they passed, but he knew that in spite of her apparent attention Joanne heard only a part of what she was saying.  In that crowd she hoped—­or feared—­to find a certain face.  And again Aldous told himself that it was not Quade’s face.

Near the end of the street a crowd was gathering, and here, for a moment, Blackton stopped his team within fifty feet of the objects of attraction.  A slim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering silk was standing beside a huge brown bear.  Her sleek black hair, shining as if it had been oiled, fell in curls about her shoulders.  Her rouged lips were smiling.  Even at that distance her black eyes sparkled like diamonds.  She had evidently just finished taking up a collection, for she was fastening the cord of a silken purse about her neck.  In another moment she bestrode the bear, the crowd fell apart, and as the onlookers broke into a roar of applause the big beast lumbered slowly up the street with its rider.