“And does he ever bring his cut-throat friends here?” asked Hanson.

“My, no!” cried Mrs. Gallito.  “It wouldn’t be safe.”

“I should think it would be as safe here as in the mountains.”

“He don’t keep ’em there long, if they’re wanted bad,” whispered Mrs. Gallito.  “He knows more than one secret trail over the mountains.”

Hanson was beginning to show a more genuine interest now and, spurred on by this flattering appreciation of her revelations, Mrs. Gallito went on.

“If you won’t ever tell,” she bent toward him after glancing about her cautiously, “I’ll tell you something.  Of course, I’d never mention it if I didn’t feel that you’re as safe as a church and one of our very best friends.”

“You haven’t got a better in the world,” he fervently assured her, his curiosity really aroused now.

“Well,” glowing with the importance of her news, “did you ever hear of Crop-eared Jose?”

It was with difficulty that Hanson repressed a long, low whistle.  “I should say,” he answered.  “He’s been wanted by the police of several States for some time, and since that last big robbery they’ve had sheriffs and their parties scouring the mountains.”

For once Mrs. Gallito really had a piece of news which was sure to command the most flattering attention.

Crop-eared Jose was a famous and slippery bandit, and his latest exploit had been the robbery of an express car and subsequent vanishing with a sum approximating thirty thousand dollars.  It was supposed that he had jumped the train while it was making its slow progress across the mountains at night and had lain on the top of the car until what he regarded as the proper moment for action had arrived.  He had then slipped down, forced the lock on the door, held up both messengers, making one tie and gag the other, under his direction, and then himself performed that office for the first with his own skillful hands.  After that, to open the safe, take the money and drop from the train was mere child’s play to so accomplished a professional as Jose.

“Gallito’s got him.”  Mrs. Gallito enjoyed to the full the sensation she had created, and then a sudden revulsion of fright shook her.  “But, for goodness’ sake, Mr. Hanson, don’t let on I told you.  I—­I wish I hadn’t spoke,” she whispered.

“Trust me,” comfortingly.  “Now don’t give it another thought.  I’ll forget it on the spot, if you say so.”

“Gallito’d kill me”—­she still shook and looked at him fearfully.

“Oh, come now,” his tone was infinitely reassuring, “forget it; I have already.  Such things don’t interest me.”

     “Love me to-day,
       Love me an hour;”

sang Lolita, and his eyes turned to the two at the gate, still chaperoned by the faithful parrot.  In them was a flash like fire on steel, as they rested on Bob Flick.  Then he turned again to Mrs. Gallito.  “Forget it,” he said again, as he rose to take his leave; “and believe that I have, too.”