CHAPTER XI.
HALF-CONFIDENCES Whatever Stutter Brown may secretly have thought concerning this new arrangement of his affairs, he indulged in no outward manifestations.
Not greatly gifted in speech, he was nevertheless sufficiently prompt in action.

The swift, nervous orders of the impulsive Mexican dancer had sufficiently impressed him with one controlling idea, that something decidedly serious was in the air; and, as she flitted across the room, looking not unlike a red bird, he watched her make directly toward a man who was leaning negligently back in a chair against the farther wall.

For a moment he continued to gaze through the obscuring haze of tobacco smoke, uncertain as to the other's identity, his eyes growing angry, his square jaw set firm.
"W-who is the f-f-feller ?" he questioned gruffly.

"Wh-what 's she m-mean l-leavin' me to go over th-thar ter h-him ?" Beth Norvell glanced up frankly into his puzzled face.
"She has gone to keep him away from me," she explained quietly.

"His name is Farnham." Brown's right hand swung back to his belt, his teeth gripped like those of a fighting dog.
"Hell!" he ejaculated, forgetting to stutter.