It was Bob Hampton, cool, resourceful, sarcastic of speech, quick of temper, who greeted the loungers about the hotel, and who sat, with his back to the wall, in the little dining-room, watchful of all others present.

And it was Bob Hampton who strolled carelessly out upon the darkened porch an hour later, leaving a roar of laughter behind him, and an enemy as well.

Little he cared for that, however, in his present mood, and he stood there, amid the black shadows, looking contemptuously down upon the stream of coatless humanity trooping past on pleasure bent, the blue smoke circling his head, his gray eyes glowing half angrily.

Suddenly he leaned forward, clutching the rail in quick surprise.
"Kid," he exclaimed, harshly, "what does this mean?
What are you doing alone here ?" She stopped instantly and glanced up, her face flushing in the light streaming forth from the open door of the Occidental.
"I reckon I 'm alone here because I want to be," she returned, defiantly.

"I ain't no slave.