“‘Throw’ me?  What is it you mean?” she exclaimed, her voice faltering.  “Do you rank me with those shameless creatures out yonder?  It is for Mr. Winston’s sake I sought word with him; it has nothing whatever to do with myself.  I chanced to learn news of the utmost importance, news which he must possess before morning; yet it is not a message I can trust to any one else.  My God! what can I do?” She paused irresolute, her hands pressing her temples.  The boy, his interest aroused, took a step forward.

“Can I be of service?”

“Oh, I hardly know; I scarcely seem able to think.  Could—­could you leave here for just ten minutes—­long enough to go to the dance hall at the Gayety?”

“Sure thing; there ‘s nothin’ doin’.”

“Then please go; find a big, red-headed miner there named Brown—­’Stutter’ Brown they call him—­and bring him back here to me.  If—­if he is n’t there any longer, then get Mercedes, the Mexican dancer.  You know her, don’t you?”

The clerk nodded, reaching for his hat.

“Get one of those two; oh, you must get one of them.  Tell them I say it is most important.”

There was a terrible earnestness about the girl’s words and manner, which instantly impressed the lad with the necessity for immediate haste.  He was off at a run, slamming the door heavily behind him, and plunging headlong into the black street.  As he disappeared, Miss Norvell sank back into the vacated chair, and sat there breathing heavily, her eyes fastened upon the drunken man opposite, her natural coolness and resource slowly emerging from out the haze of disappointment.  Brown could surely be trusted in this emergency, for his interest was only second to her own.  But why had she not told him the entire story before?  Why, when she had opportunity, did she fail to reveal to him Farnham’s threats, and warn him against impending danger?  She realized fully now the possible injury wrought by her secrecy.  She felt far too nervous, too intensely anxious, to remain long quiet; her eyes caught the ticking timepiece hanging above the clerk’s desk, and noted the hour with a start of surprise.  It was already after two.  Once, twice, thrice she paced across the floor of the office and stood for a moment striving to peer through the dirty window-glass into the blackness without, faintly splotched with gleams of yellow light.  Finally, she flung back the door and ventured forth upon the shadowed porch, standing behind the low railing, where those passing below were little likely to notice her presence.  Her head throbbed and ached, and she loosened her heavy hair, pressing her palms to the temples.  The boy returned at last hurriedly, bare-headed, but unaccompanied, and she met him at the top of the steps, realizing, even before he spoke, that those she sought had not been found.

“Not there?  Neither there?”

“No, Miss.”  The clerk was breathing hard from his run, but his tone was sympathetic.  “Darned if I did n’t hustle that outfit from pit to boxes, but nobody there seemed to sabe this yere Brown.  Mercedes, she was there all right, ’bout ten minutes ago, but just naturally faded away before I hit the shebang.  Doorkeeper piped it she had a guy with her when she broke loose, an’ he reckoned she must have lit out fer home.”