“The Lord,” said Lick, devoutly, “tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.  And also to the homeless squatter on our sandy shores.”

“I hope you’re right,” responded Stanley.  “It does me good to hear someone speak of God in this godless place.  It is full of thieves and cut-throats; they’ve a settlement at the base of the hill overlooking Clark’s Point.  No man’s life is safe, they tell me, over there.”

Lick frowned.  “They call it Sydney Town because so many Australian convicts have settled in it.  Some day we’ll form a citizens’ committee and run them off.”

“Which reminds me,” Lick retorted, “that McTurpin came to town this morning.  With a veiled woman ... or girl.  She looks little more than a child.”

Adrian surveyed the other, startled.  “Child?” His mind was full of vague suspicions.

“Well, she didn’t weigh more than a hundred.  Yes, they came—­both on one horse, and the fellow’s companion none too well pleased, I should say.  Frightened, perhaps, though why she should be is a puzzle.”  Lick shrugged his shoulders.

“Has he taken the girl to his—­the ranch?” asked Adrian.

“Don’t know.  I reckon not,” Lick answered.  “They ate at the City Hotel.  He’d a bag full of dust, so he’ll gamble and guzzle till morning most likely.”  He regarded his friend keenly, a trifle uneasily.  “Come, Adrian ...  I’ll walk past your door with you.”

“I’m not going home just yet, thanks,” Stanley’s tone was nervously evasive.

“Well, good-night, then,” said the other with reluctance.  He turned south on Kearny street toward his home.  Stanley, looking after him, stood for a moment as if undetermined.  Then he took his way across the Plaza toward the City Hotel.

In the bar, a long and low-ceiling room, talk buzzed and smoke from many pipes made a bluish, acrid fog through which, Adrian, standing in the doorway, saw, imperfectly, a long line of men at the bar.  Others sat at tables playing poker and drinking incessantly, men in red-flannel shirts, blue denim trousers tucked into high, wrinkled boots.  They wore wide-brimmed hats, and cursed or spat with a fervor and vehemence that indicated enjoyment.  Adrian presently made out the stocky form of McTurpin, glass upraised.  Before him on the bar were a fat buckskin bag and a bottle.  He was boasting of his luck at the mines.

A companion “hefted” the treasure admiringly.  “Did you make it gamblin’, Alec?” he inquired.

“No, by Harry!” said the other, tartly.  “I’m no gambler any more.  I’m a respectable gentleman with a mine and a ranch,” he emptied his glass and, smacking his lips, continued, “and a beautiful young girl that loves me ... loves me.  Understand?” His hand came down upon the other’s shoulder with a sounding whack.

“Where is she?” asked the other, coaxingly.  “You’re a cunning hombre, Alec.  Leave us have a look at her, I say.”

“Bye and bye,” McTurpin spoke more cautiously.  “Bye and bye ... then you can be a witness to the marriage, Dave.”  He drew the second man aside across the room, so near to Adrian that the latter stepped back to avoid discovery.