“Let me go for you.”

“No, no!”

“Then may I go along?”

Again the girl shook her head.  “I can handle him better alone. 
He’s a strange man, a terrible man, when he’s this way.  I—­hope
I’m not too late.”

Rouletta’s wet skirts slatted about her ankles as she ran; it was a windy, chilly night, and, in spite of the fact that it was a steep climb to the top of the low bluff, she was chilled to the bone when she came panting into the sprawling cluster of habitations that formed the temporary town of White Horse.  Tents were scattered over a dim, stumpy clearing, lights shone through trees that were still standing, a meandering trail led past a straggling row of canvas-topped structures, and from one of these issued the wavering, metallic notes of a phonograph, advertising the place as a house of entertainment.

Sam Kirby was at the bar when his daughter discovered him, and her first searching look brought dismay to the girl.  Pushing her way through the crowd, she said, quietly: 

“Father!”

“Hello!” he exclaimed, in surprise.  “What are you doing here?”

“I want to speak to you.”

“Now, Letty,” he protested, when she had drawn him aside, “haven’t you been through enough for one day?  Run back to the Countess’ camp where I left you.”

“Don’t drink any more,” she implored. with an agony of dread in her face.

Kirby’s bleak countenance set itself in stony lines.  “I’ve got to,” said he.  “I’m cold—­frozen to the quick.  I need something to warm me up.”

Letty could smell the whisky on his breath, she could see a new light in his eyes and already she sensed rather than observed a subtle change in his demeanor.

“Oh, dad!” she quavered; then she bowed her head weakly upon his arm and her shoulders shook.

Kirby laid a gentle hand upon her, then exclaimed, in surprise:  “Why, kid, you’re still wet!  Got those same clothes on, haven’t you?” He raised his voice to the men he had just left.  “Want to see the gamest girl in the world?  Well, here she is.  You saw how she took her medicine to-day?  Now listen to this:  she’s wet through, but she came looking for her old dad—­afraid he’d get into trouble!”

Disregarding the crowd and the appreciative murmur her father’s praise evoked, Rouletta begged, in a low, earnest voice:  “Please, dear, come away.  Please—­you know why.  Come away—­won’t you—­for my sake?”

Kirby stirred uneasily.  “I tell you I’m cold,” he muttered, but stopped short, staring.  “Yes, and I see Danny.  I see him as he went overboard.  Drowned!  I’ll never get him out of my sight.  I can’t seem to understand that he’s gone, but—­everything’s gone, for that matter.  Everything!”

“Oh no, dad.  Why, you’re here and I’m here!  We’ve been broke before.”

Kirby smiled again, but cheerlessly.  “Oh, we ain’t exactly broke; I’ve got the bank-roll on me and it ’ll pull us through.  We’ve had bad luck for a year or two, but it’s bound to change.  You cheer up—­and come over to the stove.  What you need is to warm up while I get you a little drink.”