“Never mind, Uncle Frank,” said the commissioner, in a softer tone.  “There’s no need of that.  She hasn’t asked for anything of that sort yet.  Besides, her case is in my hands.  I see now what a little, rag-tag, bob-tail, gotch-eared department I’ve been put in charge of.  It seems to be about as important as an almanac or a hotel register.  But while I’m running it, it won’t turn away any daughters of Amos Colvin without stretching its jurisdiction to cover, if possible.  You want to keep your eye on the Department of Insurance, Statistics, and History.”

The commissioner returned to his office, looking thoughtful.  He opened and closed an inkstand on his desk many times with extreme and undue attention.  “Why don’t you get a divorce?” he asked, suddenly.

“I haven’t the money to pay for it,” answered the lady.

“Just at present,” announced the commissioner, in a formal tone, “the powers of my department appear to be considerably string-halted.  Statistics seem to be overdrawn at the bank, and History isn’t good for a square meal.  But you’ve come to the right place, ma’am.  The department will see you through.  Where did you say your husband is, ma’am?”

“He was in San Antonio yesterday.  He is living there now.”

Suddenly the commissioner abandoned his official air.  He took the faded little woman’s hands in his, and spoke in the old voice he used on the trail and around campfires.

“Your name’s Amanda, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I thought so.  I’ve heard your dad say it often enough.  Well, Amanda, here’s your father’s best friend, the head of a big office in the state government, that’s going to help you out of your troubles.  And here’s the old bushwhacker and cowpuncher that your father has helped out of scrapes time and time again wants to ask you a question.  Amanda, have you got money enough to run you for the next two or three days?”

Mrs. Sharp’s white face flushed the least bit.

“Plenty, sir—­for a few days.”

“All right, then, ma’am.  Now you go back where you are stopping here, and you come to the office again the day after to-morrow at four o’clock in the afternoon.  Very likely by that time there will be something definite to report to you.”  The commissioner hesitated, and looked a trifle embarrassed.  “You said your husband had insured his life for $5,000.  Do you know whether the premiums have been kept paid upon it or not?”

“He paid for a whole year in advance about five months ago,” said Mrs. Sharp.  “I have the policy and receipts in my trunk.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then,” said Standifer.  “It’s best to look after things of that sort.  Some day they may come in handy.”

Mrs. Sharp departed, and soon afterward Luke Standifer went down to the little hotel where he boarded and looked up the railroad time-table in the daily paper.  Half an hour later he removed his coat and vest, and strapped a peculiarly constructed pistol holster across his shoulders, leaving the receptacle close under his left armpit.  Into the holster he shoved a short-barrelled .44 calibre revolver.  Putting on his clothes again, he strolled to the station and caught the five-twenty afternoon train for San Antonio.