 Chapter 26 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This liberal box recording is in the public domain. Recorded by Joe DeNoya, Summer Satin of Jersey. The Apache had taken but a few steps on the trail toward the East pasture when Custer reigned him in suddenly and willed him about. I'll settle this thing now, he muttered. I'll catch her with them. I'll find out who the others are. By God, I've got her now and I've got them. He spurred the Apache into a loathe along the steep and dangerous declivity leading downward into the basin. The horse was surprised. Never before had he been allowed to go downhill faster than a walk, his sound four legs attesting the careful horsemanship of his rider. Where the trail wound around bushes, he took perilous jumps on the steep hillside, for his speed was too great to permit him to take the short turns. He cleared them and somehow he stuck to the trail beyond. His iron shoes struck fire and half-embedded boulders. A rattler crossed the trail ahead, coiled, buzzing its warning. The hillside was steep, there was no footing above or below the snake. The Apache could not have stopped in time to save itself from those poisonous fangs. A cowered horse would have wheeled and gone over the cliff, but the morgan is no cower. The rider saw the danger at the instant the horse did. The animal felt the spurs touch him lightly. He heard a word of encouragement from the man he trusted. As the snake struck, he rose gathering his forefeet close to his belly and cleared the danger spot far out of reach of the needle-like fangs. The trail beyond was narrow, rocky, and shelving. The thing could not have happened in a worse place. The Apache lit, stumbled, slipped. His off hind foot went over the edge. He lunged forward upon his knees. Only the cool horsemanship of his rider saved them both. A pound of weight thrown in the wrong direction would have toppled the horse to the bottom of the rocky gorge. A heavy hand upon the bit would have accomplished the same result. Penitent sat easily on the balance seat that gave the horse the best chance to regain his footing. His touch upon the bit was only sufficient to impart confidence to his mount, giving the animal's head free play, as nature intended, as he scrambled back to the trail again. At last they reached the safer footing of the basin, and were often a straight line for the ravine into which led the mysterious trail. The Apache knew that there was need for haste, an inclination of his master's body, a closing of his knees against his barrel, the slight raising of the bridle hand. I told him this more surely than loud cries of the punishment of steel rowls. He flattened out and flew. The cold raged at Grip Penitent and broke no delay. He was glad though that he was unarmed, for he knew that when he came face to face with the men with whom Shannon Burkett conspired against him, he might have yet ceased to be the master of his anger. They reached the foot of the Eclivity terminating at the sum of the ridge beyond which laid the camp of the bootleggers. Again, the man urged his mount to the necessity of speed. The powerful beast leapt upward along the steep trail, digging his toes deep into the sun-baked soil. Every muscle in his body strained to the limit of its powers. At the summit, they met Baldi, head and tail erect, snorting and riderless. The appearance of the horse in his evident fright bespoke something amiss. Custer had seen him just as he had emerged from the upper end of the dim trail leading down the opposite side of the hopback. He turned the Apache into it and headed him down toward the oaks. Below, Shannon was waging a futile fight against the burly Bartolo. She struck at his face and attempted to push him from her, but he'd only laughed his crooked laugh and pushed her slowly toward the trampled dust of the abandoned camp. Before I kill you, he repeated again and again, as if it were some huge joke. He heard the sound of the Apache's hooves upon the trail above, but he thought of the loose horse of the girl. Custer was almost at the bottom of the trail when the Mexican glanced up and saw him. With a curse, he hurled Shannon aside and leapt toward his pony. At the same instant, the girl saw the Apache and his rider, and in the next, she saw Bartolo seize his rifle and attempt to draw it from his boot. Leaping to her feet, she sprang toward the Mexican, who was cursing frightfully because the rifle had stuck, and he could not readily extricate it from the boot. As she reached him, he succeeded in jerking the weapon free, swinging about, he threw it to his shoulder and fired at Penitent, just as Shannon threw herself upon him, clutching at his arms and dragging the muzzle of the weapon downward. He struck at her face and tried to wrench the rifle from her grasp, but she clung to it with all the desperation that the danger confronting the man she loved engendered. Custer had thrown himself from the saddle and was running toward them. He also saw that he could not regain the rifle in time to use it. He struck the girl a terrible blow in the face that centered to the ground. Then he turned and vaulted into his saddle, and was away across the bottom and up the trail of the opposite side before Penitent could reach him and dragging him from his pony. Custer turned to the girl lying motionless upon the ground. He knelt and raised her in his arms. She had fainted, and her face was very white. He looked down into it, the face of the girl he hated. He felt his arms about her, he felt her body against his, and suddenly a look of horror filled his eyes. He later back upon the ground and stood up. He was trembling violently. As he had held her in his arms, there was swept over him in almost irresistible desire to crush her to him, to cover her eyes and cheeks with kisses, to smother her lips with them, the girl he hated. A great light had broken upon his mental horizon, a light of understanding that left all his world in the dark shadow of despair. He loved Shannon Burke. Then he knelt beside her and very gently he lifted her in his arms and lay could support her across one shoulder. Then he whistled to the Apache, who was nibbling the bitter leaves of the live oak. When the horse came to him, he looped a brawl of reins about his arm and started on foot up the trail, down which he had just ridden, carrying Shannon across his shoulder. At the sum of the ridge he found baldy, grazing upon the sparse, burned grasses of late September. It was then that Shannon Burke opened her eyes. At first, confused by the rush of returning recollections, she thought that it was the Mexican who was carrying her, but an instant later she recognized the whip cord riding breeches and the familiar boots and spurs of the Son of Ganado. Then she stirred upon his shoulder. I am all right now, she said, you may put me down, I can walk. He lowered her to the ground, but he still supported her as they stood facing each other. You came just in time, she said, he was going to kill me. I am glad I came, was all that he said. She noticed how tired and pinched Custer's face looked, as if he had risen from a sick bed after a long period of suffering. He looked older, very much older, and oh, so sad. It rung her heart, but she did not question him. She was still waiting for him to question her, for she knew that he must wonder why she had come here and what the meaning of the encounter he had witnessed. But he did not ask her anything, beyond inquiring whether she thought she was strong enough to sit in her saddle if he helped her mount. I shall be all right now, she assured him. He caught Baldy and assisted her into the saddle. Then he mounted the Apache and led the way along the trail toward home. They were halfway across the basin meadow before I either spoke. It was Shannon who broke the silence. You must have wondered what I was doing up there, as she said, with a backward nod of her head. That would not be strange, would it? I will tell you. No, he said. It was bad enough that you went there today and the Saturday before I was arrested. Anything more that you can tell me would only make it worse. Do you remember that girl I told you about, the friend of Cousin William, who visited us? Yes. I followed you up here today to tell you the same thing I told her. I understand, she said. You do not understand, he snapped almost angrily. You understand nothing. I only said that I followed to tell you that. I have not told you, have I? Well, I don't intend to tell you, but my shame that I don't is enough without you telling me any more to add to it. There could be no honorable excuse for you having come here that other time, or this time either. There is no reason in the world why a woman should have any dealings with criminals or any knowledge that would make dealings with them possible. That is the reason I don't want you to tell me more. Oh, Shannon, his voice broke. I don't want to hear anything bad about you. Please. She had been upon the verge of just anger until then. Even now she did not understand, only that he wanted to believe in her, however much he doubted her, and that their friendship had meant more to him than she had imagined. But I must tell you, Custer, she insisted. Now that you have learned this much, I can see that your suspicions wrong me more than I deserve. I came here this Saturday before you were arrested to warn them that you're going to watch for them the following Friday. Though I did not know the men, I knew what sort they were, and that they would kill you the moment they found that they were discovered. It was only to save your life that I came that other time, and this time I came to try to force them to go before the grand jury and clear you of the charge against you. But when I threatened the man and he found that I knew about him, he said that he would kill me. You did not know I was going to be arrested that night? Oh, Custer, how could you believe that of me, ex-Liam Shannon? I didn't want to believe it. I came into all this information about the work of this gang by accidentally overhearing a conversation in Hollywood months ago. I know the names of the principals. I know Guy's connection with them. Today, I was trying to keep Guy's name out, too, if that were possible. But he is guilty, and you are not. I cannot understand how he can come back from Los Angeles without telling the truth and removing the suspicion from you. I would not let him, said Pennington. You would not let him. You would go to the penitentiary for the crime of another? Not for him, but for Eva. Guy and I thrashed it all out. He wanted to give himself up. He almost demanded that I should let him, but it can't be done. Eva must never know. But, Custer, you can't go. It wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be right. I won't let you go. I know enough to clear you, and I should go before the grand jury on Wednesday and tell all I know. No, he said. You must not. It would involve Guy. I won't mention Guy. But you will mention others, and they will mention Guy. Don't doubt that for a minute. He turned subtly toward her. Promise me, Shannon, that you will not go, that you will not mention what you know to a living soul. I'd rather go to the pen for 20 years and say Eva's life ruined. You don't know her. She's gay and happy and frivolous on the outside, but deep within her is a soul of wondrous sensitiveness and beauty, which is fortified and guarded by her pride and her honor. Strike down one of these, and you will have given her soul a wound from which it will never recover. She can understand neither meanness nor depravity in men and women. Should she ever learn that Guy has been connected with this gang and that the money upon which they were to start their married life was the fruits of his criminality, it would break her heart. I know that Guy isn't criminally inclined, and that this will be a lesson that will keep him straight as long as he lives. But she wouldn't look at it that way. Now do you see why you must not tell what you know? Perhaps you are right, but it seems to me that she would not suffer any more if Guy went than if her brother went. She loves you very much. But she will know that I am innocent. If Guy went, she would know that he is guilty. Shannon had no answer to this, and they were silent for a while. You will help me to keep this from Ava, he asked? Yes. She was thinking of the futility of her sacrifice and wondering what explanation he was putting upon her knowledge of the activities of the criminals. He had said that there could be no reason in the world why a woman should have any dealings with such men or any knowledge that would make dealings with them possible. What would he think of her if he knew the truth? The man's mind was a chaos of conflicting thoughts, the sudden realization of a love that was as impossible as it was unwelcome, recollection of his vows to grace, which was binding upon his honor as the marriage vows themselves would have been. Doubts us to the character and antecedents of this girl who rode to his side today and whose place in his life had suddenly assumed an importance beyond that of any other. Then he turned a little, his eyes resting upon a profile, and he found it hard to doubt her. Shannon felt his eyes upon her and looked up. You have been so good to me, Custer, all of you. You can never know how I have valued the friendship of the Penningtons or what it was meant to me or how I have striven to deserve it. I would have done anything to repay a part, at least, of what it has done for me. That was what I was going to do. That is why I wanted to go before the grand jury, no matter what the cost to me. But I failed, and perhaps I have only made it worse. I do not even know that you believe me. I believe you, Shannon, he said. There is much that I do not understand, but I believe that what you did was done in our interests. There's nothing more than any of us can do now but keep still about what we know. For the moment one of those actually responsible is threatened with exposure, Guy's name will be divulged. You may rest assured of that. There would be only too glad to shift the responsibility to his shoulders. But you will make some effort to defend yourself. I shall simply plead not guilty and tell the truth about why I was up there when the officers arrested me. You will make no other defense? What other defense can I make that would not risk incriminating Guy, Custer asked her. She shook her head. It seemed quite hopeless. End of chapter 26. Chapter 27 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This lip box recording is in the public domain. Recording by Joe DeNoya, Somerset, New Jersey. Federal officers searching the hills found the camp beyond Jackknife Canyon. They collected a number of empty bottles bearing labels identical with those of the bottles and the cases carried by the boroughs and those found in Custer Pennington's room. That was all they discovered except that the camp was located on the Pennington property. The district attorney, realizing the post of evidence calculated to convict the prisoner on any serious charge, was inclined to drop the prosecution. But the prohibition enforcement agents, backed by a band of women, most of whom had never performed a woman's first duty to the state and society and therefore had ample time to meddle in the affairs far beyond the scope of their intellect, seized upon the prominence of the Pennington name to gain notoriety for themselves, on the score that a conviction of a member of a prominent family would have an excellent moral effect upon the community at large. Just how they arrived at this conclusion, it is difficult to discern. Similarly, one might argue that if it could be proved that the Pope was a pickpocket, it would be tremendously effective in regenerating the morals of the world. Be that as of May, the works of the righteous were not without fruit. From the 12th of October, Custer Pennington was found guilty and sentenced to six months in the county jail for having several hundred dollars' worth of stolen whiskey in his possession. He was neither surprised nor disheartened. His only concern was for the sensibilities of his family and these represented that the trial and the person of his father seemed far from overwhelmed for the Colonel was unalteredly convinced of his son's innocence. Eva, who had remained at home with her mother, was more deeply affected than the others, though through a sense of injustice rather than of shame. Shannon, depressed by an unwarranted sense of responsibility for the wrong that Custer had suffered and chagrin that force of circumstances should have prevented her from saving the Pennington's from staying upon their escutcheon, found it increasingly difficult to continue her intimacy with these loved friends. Carrying in her heart the knowledge and the proof of his innocence, she regarded herself as a traitor among them and in consequence, held herself more and more aloof from their society, first upon one pretext and then upon another. At a loss to account for her change toward them, Eva, in a moment of depression, attributed it to the disgrace of Custer's imprisonment. She's ashamed to associate with the family of a jailbird, she cried. I don't believe anything of the kind, replied the Colonel. Shannon's got too much sense and she's too loyal. That's all damn poppycock. I'm sure she couldn't feel that way, said Mrs. Pennington. She has been just as positive in her assertions of Custer's innocence as any of us. You might as well think the same about guys, said the Colonel. He's scarcely been up here since Custer's arrest. He's been very busy on a new story. Anyway, I asked him about that very thing and offered to break the engagement if he felt our disgrace too keenly to want to marry into the family. The Colonel drew her down to his knee. You silly little girl, he said. Do you suppose that has made any difference in the affection that guy or any other of our real friends feel for us? Not in the slightest. Even if Custer were guilty, they would not change. Those who did, we would be better off not to know. I am rather jealous of the Pennington honor myself but I've never felt that this affair is any reflection upon it and you need not. But I can't help it, Popsie. My brother, my dear brother, in jail with a lot of thieves and murderers and horrible people like that, is just too awful. I lie awake at night thinking about it. I am ashamed to go to the village for sure someone will point at me and say, there grows the girl whose brother is in jail. You're taking it much too hard, dear, said her mother. One would think that our boy was really guilty. Oh, if he really were, I should kill myself. The only person, other than the officious reformers, to derive any happiness from young Pennington's fate was Slick Allen. He occupied a cell not far from Custer's and there were occasions when they were thrown together. Several times, Allen saw fit to fling jibes at his former employer much to the amusement of his fellows. They were usually indirect. One day, as Custer was passing, Allen remarked in a loud tone, there's a lot more of these damn fox-trapped dudes that put on airs, but ain't nothing but common thieves. Pennington turned and faced him. You remember what you got the last time you tried calling me names, Allen? Well, don't think for a minute, and just because we're in jail, I won't hand you the same thing again someday, if you get too funny. The trouble with you, Allen, is that you are a laboring under the mishap retention, that you are a humorist. You're not, and if I were you, I wouldn't make faces at the only man in this jail who knows about you and Bartolo and Gratial. Don't forget Gratial. Allen paled, and his eyes closed to two very narrow slits. He made no more observations concerning Pennington, but he devoted much thought to him, trying to arrive at some reasonable explanation of the man's silence, when it was evident that he must have sufficient knowledge of the guilt of others to clear himself of the charge upon which he had been convicted. To Allen's hatred of Custer was now added to real fear, for he had been present when Bartolo killed Gratial. The only two witnesses have been Mexicans, and Allen had no doubt that if Bartolo were accused, the three of them would swear that the American committed the murder. One of the first things to do when he was released from jail was to do away with Bartolo. Bartolo was disposed of, the other witnesses would join with Allen to lead the guilt upon the departed. Such pleasant thoughts occupied the time and mind of slick Allen, as did also his plans for paying one Wilson Crumb little debt he felt due his one-time friend. Nor was Crumb free from apprehension for the time that would see Allen's jail sentence fulfilled. He well knew the nature of the man, and is a typical of drug addicts to disregard the effect of their acts further than the immediate serving of their own interests, and the director had encompassed Allen's arrest merely to meet the emergency of the moment. Later, as time gave him the opportunity to consider what must inevitably follow Allen's release, he began to take thought as to means whereby he might escape the just deserts of his treasury. He knew enough of Allen's activities to send the man to a federal prison for a long term, but these matters he could not divulge without equally incriminating himself. There was, however, one little item of Allen's past, which might be used against him without signal danger to Crumb, and that was the murder of Gratial. It would not be necessary for Crumb to appear in the matter at all. An anonymous letter to the police was suffice to direct suspicion of the crime toward Allen and to assure for Crumb, if not permanent immunity, at least a period of reprieve. With the natural predilection of the week for avoiding a delay in the consummation of their intentions, Crumb postponed the writing of this letter of accusation. There was no calls for hurry, he argued, since Allen's time would not expire until the 6th of the following August. Crumb led a lonely life after the departure of Gaza. His infatuation for the girl had as closely approximated love as a creature of his type could reach. He had come to depend upon her and to look forward to finding her at the Vista del Paso bungalow on his return from the studio. Since her departure, his evenings have been unbearable, and with the passing weeks, he developed a hatred for the place that constantly reminded him of his loss. He had been so confident that she would have to return to him after she had consumed a small quantity of morphine he had allotted her that only after the weeks had run into months did he realize that she had probably gone out of his life forever. How she had accomplished it, he could not understand, unless she had found means of obtaining the narcotic elsewhere. Not knowing where she had gone, he had no means of searching for her. In his own mind, however, he was convinced that she must have returned to Los Angeles. Judging others by himself, he could conceive of no existence that would be supportable beyond the limits of the large city, where the means for gratification of his vice might be obtained. That Gaza's Lord successfully thrown off the fetters which he had tricked her, never for a moment entered his calculations. Finally, however, it was borne in upon him that there was little likelihood of her returning, and so depressing had become the familiar and suggestive furnishing of the visit the Paws of Bungalow, that he at last gave it up, stored his furniture, and took a room at a local hotel. He took with him, carefully concealed in a trunk his supply of narcotics, which he did not find it so easy to dispose of since the departure of his accomplice. During the first picture in which Grace Evans had worked with him, Crum had become more and more impressed with her beauty and a subtle charm of her refinement, which appealed to him by contrast with the extraordinary surroundings and personalities of the KKS studio. There was a quiet restfulness about her which soothed her diseased nerves, and after Gaza's desertion, he found himself more and more seeking her society. As was his accustomed policy, his attentions were at first so slight and increased by such barely perceptible degrees that, taken in connection with his uniform courtesy, they gave the girl no warning of his ultimate purposes. The matter of the test had shocked and disgusted her for the moment, but the thing having been done and no harm coming from it, she began to consider even that with less revulsion than formerly. The purpose of it, she had never been able to fathom, but if Crum had intended it to place him insidiously upon the plane of greater intimacy with the girl, he had succeeded, that the effect was subjective, rendered it none the less effective. Add to these factors in the budding intimacy between the director and the extra girl was the factor, which is almost most potent in similar associations, the fear that the girl holds of offending a potent ally and the hope of propitiating a power in which lies the potentiality of success upon the screen. Lunch is at Frank's, dinners at the ship, dances at the country club, led by easy gradations to more protracted parties at the Sunset Inn and the Green Mill. The purposes of Crum's shrewdly conceived and carefully executed plan were twofold. Primarily, he sought a companionship to replace that of which Gaza to Lord had robbed him. Secondarily, he needed a new tool to assist in the disposal of the considerable store of narcotics that he had succeeded in tricking Allen and his accomplices into delivering to him with the understanding that he would divide the profits of the sales with them, which, however, Crum had no intention of doing if he could possibly avoid it. In much the same manner that he had tricked Gaza to Lord, he tricked Grace Evans into the use of cocaine. And after that, the rest was easy. Renting another and less pretentious bungalow on Circle Terrace, he installed the girl there and transferred the trunk of narcotics to her care, retaining his room at the hotel for himself. Grace's fall was more easily accomplished than in the case of Gaza and was more complete, for the former had neither the courage nor the strength of character that had enabled the other to withstand the more degrading advances of her tempter. To assume that the girl made no effort to oppose his importunes would be both unfair and unjust, for both heredity and training had empowered her with a love of honor and a horror of the sordidness of vice. But the gradual undermining of her will by the subtle in rows of narcotics rendered her powerless to withstand the final assault upon the citadel of her scruples. One evening toward the middle of October, they were dining together at the Winter Club. Chrome had bought an evening paper on the street and was glancing through it as they sat waiting for their dinner to be served. Presently, he looked up at the girl seated opposite him. Didn't you come from a little jerkwater place up the line called Ganado, he asked? She nodded affirmatively. Why? Here's a guy from there being set up for bootlegging, followed by the name of Pennington. She half closed her eyes as if in pain. I know, she said. It has been in the newspapers for the last couple of weeks. Did you know him? Yes, he's been out to see me since his arrest and he called up once. Did you see him? No, I would be ashamed to see any decent person. Decent, snorted Chrome. You don't call a damn bootlegger decent, do you? I don't believe he ever did it to the girl. I've known him all my life and his family. I'm certain he couldn't have done it. A sudden light came into Chrome's eye. By God, he exclaimed, bringing his fist down upon the table. What does the matter, Grace inquired? Well, wouldn't that get you, he exclaimed? I never connected you at all. What do you mean? This fellow Pennington may not be guilty, but I know who is. How do you know? I don't understand you. Why do you look at me that way? Well, if that isn't the best ever, exclaimed the man, and here you have been handing me a long line of talk about the decent family you came from and I would kill them if they knew you sniffed a little coke now and then. Well, wouldn't that get you? You certainly are a fine one to preach. I don't understand you, said the girl. What is this to do with me? I'm not related to Mr. Pennington, and it would be no difference if I were, for I know he never did anything of the sort. The idea of a Pennington bootlegging, why they have more money than they need and always have had. It isn't Pennington who ought to be in jail, he said, it's your brother. She looked at him in surprise and then she left. You must have been hitting up strong today, Wilson, she said. Oh no, I haven't, but it's funny, I never thought of it before. Alan told me a long while ago that a fellow by the name of Evans was handling the hooch for him. He said he got a job for the Penningtons as stableman in order to be near the camp where they had the stuff cacheated in the hills. He described Evans as a young blood and so I guess there isn't any doubt about it. You have a brother, I've heard you speak of him. I don't believe you, she said. It don't make any difference whether you believe me or not. I could put your brother in the pen and they've only got Pennington in the county jail. All I can get on him according to this article was having stolen goods in his possession but your brother was in on the whole proposition. It was hidden in his hay barn. He delivered it to a fellow who came up there every week ostensibly to get hay and your brother collected the money. Gosh, they sent him up for sure if I ever tipped him off to what I know. And thus was fashioned the power he used to force her to his will. A week later, the bungalow on Circle Tennis was engaged and Grace Evans took up the work of peddling narcotics which Shannon Burke had laid down a few months before with this difference. Gaza DeLore had shared in the profits of the traffic while Grace Evans got nothing more than her living and what drugs she craved for her personal use. Her life, her surroundings, every environment of this new and terrible world into which her ambition had introduced her tended rapidly to ravish her beauty. She faded with a rapidity that was surprising even to crumb, surprising and annoying. He had wanted for her to keep her beauty but now she was losing it. But still he must keep her because of her value in her his nefarious commerce. As weeks and months went by, he no longer took pleasure in her society and was seldom at the bungalow saved when he came to demand an accounting and to collect the proceeds of her sales. Her pleas and reproaches had no other effect upon him than to arouse his anger. One day when she clunked to him, begging him not to desert her, he pushed her roughly from him so that she fell and in falling, she struck the edge of the table and hurt herself. This happened in April. On the following day, Custer Pennington, his terms in the County Jail expired, was liberated. End of chapter 27. Chapter 28 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This liberal box recording is in the public domain. Recording by Joe DeNoya, Somerset, New Jersey. Custer's long hours of loneliness had often been occupied with plans against the day of his liberation. That Grace had not seen him or communicated with him since his arrest and conviction had been a source of wonder and hurt to him. He recalled many times the circumstances of the telephone call with a growing belief that Grace had been there, but I've refused to talk with him. Nevertheless, he was determined to see her before he returned to Granado. He had asked particularly that none of his family should come to Los Angeles on the day of his release, but that the roadster should be sent up on the preceding day and left in the garage for him. He lost no time after quitting the jail and getting his machine and driving out to Hollywood to the house where Grace had boarded. The woman who answered his ring told him that Grace no longer lived there. At first she was loathe to give him any information as to the girl's whereabouts, but after some persuasion, she gave him a number on Circle Terrace and in that direction penned and turned his car. As he left his car before the bungalow and approached the building, he could see into the interior through the screen door for it was a warm day in April and the inner door was open. As he mounted a few steps leading to the porch, he saw a woman cross the living room and twitched the door open. She moved hurriedly, disappearing through a doorway opposite and closing the door after her. Though he had but a brief glimpse of her in a darkened interior, he knew that it was Grace, so familiar with every line of her figure and every movement of her carriage. It was several minutes after Custer rang before a Japanese appeared at the doorway. It was the same Japanese schoolboy who served as General Factorum at the Vista del Paso Bungalow. He opened the screen door a few inches and looked inquiringly at the caller. I wish to see Miss Evans, said Custer. He took a card case from his pocket and handed the card to the servant, who looked blankly at the card and then at the caller, finally shaking his head stupidly and closing the door. No here, he said, nobody home. Penitent recalled once more the affair of the telephone. He knew that he had just seen Grace inside the bungalow. He had come to talk with her and he intended to do so. He laid his hand on the handle of the door and jerked it open. The jab evidently lacking in discretion endeavored to prevent him from entering. First, the guardian clawed at the door in the effort to close it and then, very foolishly, he attempted to push Penitent out on the porch. The results were disastrous to the jab. Crossing the living room, Custer wrapped on the door through which he had seen Grace go, calling her by name. Receiving no reply, he flung the door open. Facing him was the girl he was engaged to marry. With her back against the dresser, Grace stood at the opposite end of the room. Her disheveled hair fell about her face, which was overspread with a sickly collar. Her wild staring eyes were fixed upon him. Her mouth, dripping at the corners, tremulously depicted a combination of terror and anger. Grace, he exclaimed. She still stood staring at him for a moment before she spoke. What do you mean, she demanded at last, by breaking me to my bedroom? Get out, I don't wanna see you. I don't want you here. He crossed the room and put a handle on her shoulder. My God, Grace, he cried. What is the matter? What has happened to you? Nothing has happened, she mumbled. There's nothing to matter with me. I suppose you want me to go back with the rest of the rubes. I'm through with the damn country. And country, Jake's too, she added. You mean that you don't want me here, Grace? That you don't love me, he asked? Love you? She broke into a disagreeable laugh. Why, you poor rub, I never wanna see you again. He stood looking at her for a moment longer. Then he turned slowly and walked out of the bungalow and down to his car. When he had gone, the girl threw herself face down upon the bed and burst into uncontrollable sobs. For the moment, she had risen triumphant above the clutches of her sword advice. For that brief moment, she had played her part to save the man she loved from greater torture and humiliation in the future. At what a price only she could ever know. Custer found them waiting for him on the east porch as he drove up to the ranch house. The new freedom and a long drive over the beautiful highway through the clear April sunshine, with the green hills that has left and the lovely valleys spread out upon his right hand, to some extent alleviated the depression that had followed the shock of his interview with Grace. And when he led it from the car, he seemed quite his normal self again. Eva was first to reach him. She fairly threw herself upon her brother, laughing and crying in a hysteria of happiness. His mother was smiling through her tears while the Colonel blew his nose violently, remarking that it was a hell of a time of year to have a damn cold. Custer joked a little about his imprisonment, but he soon saw that the mere mention of it had the most depressing effects upon Eva, so he did not revert to the subject again in her presence. He confined himself to plying with them a hundred questions about happenings on the ranch during his long absence, the condition of the stock and the crop outlook for the season. As he considered the effect his undeserved jail sentence had produced upon the sensibilities of his sister, he was doubly repaid for the long months of confinement that he had suffered in order to save her from the still greater blow of having the man she was to marry justly convicted of a far more serious crime. He saw no reason now why she should ever learn the truth. The temporary disgrace of his incarceration would soon be forgotten in the everyday run of work and pleasure that constituted the life of Gannotto, and the specter of her hurt pride would no longer haunt her. Custer was surprised that Guy and Mrs. Evans had not been of the party that welcomed his return. When he mentioned this, Eva told him that Mrs. Evans thought the Pennington's would want to have him all through themselves for a while, and that their neighbors were coming up after dinner, and it was not until dinner that he asked after Shannon. We have seen very little of her since you left, explained his mother. She returned baldly soon after that and bought the senator from Mrs. Evans. I don't know what is the matter with the childs of the colonel. She's as sweet as ever when we do see her, and she always asks after you and tells us that she believes in your innocence. She rides a great deal at night, but seldom, if ever, in the daytime. I don't think it is safe for a woman to ride alone in the hills at night, and I have told her so. But she says that she is not afraid, and she loves the hills as well by night, as by day. Eva has missed her company very much, said Mrs. Pennington. I was afraid that we might have done something to offend her, but none of us can think what it could have been. I thought she was ashamed of us, said Eva. Nonsense, exclaimed the colonel. Of course that's nonsense, said Custer. She knows as well as the rest of you that I was innocent. He was thinking how much more surely Shannon knew his innocence than any of them. During dinner, Eva regained her old-time spirit. More than once, the tears came to Mrs. Pennington's eyes as she realized that once more, their little family was united, and that the pall of sorrow that had weighed so heavily upon them for the past six months had at last lifted, revealing again the sunshine of the daughter's heart, which had never been the same since their boy had gone away. Oh, cuss, exclaimed Eva. The most scrumptious thing is going to happen, and I'm so glad you're going to be here too. It's going to be perfectly gorgeistic. There's to be a whole regiment of them, and they're going to be camped right up the mouth of a jackknife. I can scarcely wait until they come, can you? I think I might manage, said her brother, at least until you tell me what you're talking about. Pictures, exclaimed Eva. Isn't it simple medic, gorgeuristic? And they may be here a whole month. What in the world is a child talking about, asked Custer, appealing to his mother? Your father, Mrs. Pennington, started to explain. Oh, don't tell him, cried Eva. I want to tell him myself. You've been explaining for several minutes, said Custer, but you haven't said anything yet. Well, I'll start at the beginning then. They're going to have Indians and cowboys, and that sounds more like the finish, suggested Custer. Don't interrupt me. They're going to take a picture on gonado. Custer turned towards his father with a look of surprise. You didn't blame Papa, said Eva. It was all my fault, or rather, I should say, our good fortune is all due to me. You see, Papa wasn't going to let them come at first, but the cutest man came up to see him, a nice, short, fat little man, and he rubbed his hands together and said, Vell Colonel? Papa told him that he had never allowed any picture companies on the place, but I happened to be there, and that was all that saved us. Fright teased and teased and teased until finally Papa said that they can come, provided they didn't take any pictures up around the house. They didn't want to do that, for they're making a Western picture, and they said the scenery at the back of the ranch is just what they want. They're coming up in a few days, and it's going to be perfectly radiant, and maybe I'll get to be in the pictures. If I thought so, said Custer, I put a can of nitroglycerin onto the whole works the moment they drove on the property. He was thinking of what the pictures had done for Grace Evans. I am surprised that you permitted it, father, he said, turning to the Colonel. I'm not surprised myself admitted the older Pennington, but what was I to do with that suave little location manager rubbing his hands and oiling me on one side? And this little rascal here pestering the life out of me and the other. I simply had to give in. I don't imagine any harm will come from it. They've promised to be very careful of all the property, and whenever any of our stock is used, it will be handled by our own men. I suppose they're going to pay you handsomely for it, suggested Custer. The Colonel smiled. Well, that wasn't exactly mentioned, he said, but I have a recollection that the location manager said something about presenting us with a fine set of steels at the ranch. Generous of them, said Custer, they'll camp all over the shop, use our water, burn our firewood, and trample up our pasture, and in return they'll give us a set of photographs. Their liberality is truly marvelous. Well, to tell you the truth, said the Colonel, after I found how anxious Eva was, I wouldn't have dared mention payment, for fear they might refuse to come, and this young lady's life might be ruined in consequence. What outfit is it as the son? It's a company from KKS, directed by a man by the name of Crumb. Wilson Crumb, the famous actor-director at Eva, how perfectly radiant. I'd danced with him in Los Angeles a year ago. Oh, that's the fellow, is it, said Custer? I have a hazy recollection that you were mad about him for some 15 minutes after you reached home, but I've never heard you mention him since. Well, to tell you the truth, said Eva, I had forgotten all about him till that perfectly gorgeous little liquidious manager mentioned him. Location manager corrected her father. He was both. Yes, he was, said the Colonel. I rather hope he comes back. I haven't enjoyed anyone so much since the days of Weber and Fields. It was after eight o'clock when the Evanses arrived. Mrs. Evans was genuinely affected at seeing Custer again, but she was as fond of him as if he had been her own son. In Guy, Custer discovered a great change. The boy he had left had become suddenly a man, quiet and reserved, with a shadow of sadness in his expression. His lesson had been a hard one, Custer knew, and the price that he had to pay for it had left its indelible mark upon his sensitive character. Guy's happiness at having Custer back again was overshadowed to some extent by the shame that he must always feel when he looked into the face of the man who shouldered his guilt and taken the punishment which should have been his. The true purpose of Pennington's sacrifice could never alter young Evans's realization of the fact that the part he had been forced to take had been that of a coward, a traitor, and a cat. The first greetings over, Mrs. Evans asked Custer if he had seen Grace before he left Los Angeles. I saw her, he said, and she is not at all well. I think Guy should go up there immediately and try to bring her back. I meant to speak to him about it this evening. She is not seriously ill, exclaimed Mrs. Evans. I cannot say, replied Custer. I doubt if she is seriously ill in the physical sense, but she is not well. I could see that. She has changed a great deal. I think you should lose no time, Guy, he added, turning to Grace's brother and going to Los Angeles and getting her. She's been gone almost a year and it's time she knew whether her dreams are to come true or not. From what I saw of her, I doubt if they ever materialized. I will go tomorrow, said young Evans. End of chapter 28. Chapter 29 of the Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This is the provoking recordings in the public domain. Recording by Joe DeNoya, Somerset, New Jersey. The six months that had just passed had been months of indecision and sadness for Shannon Burke. Constantly moved by conviction that she should leave the vicinity of Ganado in the Penningtons. She was held there by a force that she had not the power to overcome. Never before has she had left her mother's home in the middle west has she experienced the peace and contentment and happiness that her little orchard on the highway imparted to her life. The friendship of the Penningtons had meant more to her than anything that had hitherto entered her life. And to be near them, even if she saw them but seldom, constituted the constant bulwark against the assaults of her old enemy, which still occasionally assailed ramparts of her will. After the departure of Custer, she conscientiously observed what she considered to be his wishes as expressed in his reference comparing her with a girlfriend of Cousin William, whom he had practically ordered out of the house. She had as far as possible avoided Ava's society and no contemplation of the cause of this avoidance filled her with humiliation and with a sense of injustice of all that implied, she nevertheless felt of the duty to the man she loved to respect his every wish, however indirectly suggested. That she might put herself in Ava's way as seldom as possible, Shannon had formed the habit of riding at those hours at which the Penningtons were not accustomed to ride. The habit of solitude grew upon her and she loved the loneliness of the hills. They never oppressed her. She never feared them. They drew her to them and soothed her as a mother might have done. There she forgot her sorrows and hope was stimulated to new life. Especially when the old craving seized her, did she long for the hills? And it was because of this that she first rode at night on a night of brilliant moonlight that imparted to familiar scenes the weird beauties of a strange world. The experience was unique. It assumed the proportions of an adventure and it lured her to other similar excursions. Even the senator felt the spell of enchantment. He stepped daintily with upright ears and arched neck, peering nervously into depths of each shadowy bush. He leapt suddenly aside at the movement of a leaf or halted trembling and snorting at the moon-based outlines of some jutting rock that he had passed a hundred times unmoved by day. The moonlight rise led Shannon to others on moonless nights so that she was often in the saddle when the valley slept. She invariably followed the same trail on these occasions with the result that both she and the senator knew every foot of it so well that they had traversed it beneath the blackness of heavy clouds or when the low fogs were obliterated all but the nearest objects. Never in the hills could her mind dwell upon depressing thoughts. Only cheerful reflections were her companions on these hours of solitude. She thought of the love that had come into her life, of the beauty of it and of all that it had done to make her life more worth living. Of the Penningtons and the example of red-blooded cleanliness that they set, decency without prudery. Of her little orchard and the saving problems that had brought to occupy her mind and hands, of her horse and her horsemanship, two never-failing sources of companionship and pleasure which the Penningtons had taught her to love and enjoy. On the morning after Custer's return, Guy started early for Los Angeles while Custer, Shannon not having joined them on their morning ride, resettled the Apache after breakfast and rode down to her bungalow. He both longed to see her and dreaded the meeting. Four, regardless of Grace's attitude and of the repulses she had given him, his honor bound him to her. Loyalty to the girl had been engendered by long years of association during which friendship had grown into love by so gradual a process that it seemed to each of them that there had never been a time when they had not loved. Such attachments formed in the heart of youth, hollowed by time and fortified by the pride and honor of inherited chivalry, became a part of the characters of their possessors and as difficult to uproot as those other habits of thought and action which differentiate one individual from another. Custer had realized in that brief interview of the day before that Grace was not herself. What was the cause of her change he could not guess since he was entirely unacquainted with the symptoms or narcotics? Even had a suspicion of truth entered his mind, he would have discarded it with his vile slander upon the girl as he had rejected the involuntary suggestion that she might have been drinking. His position was distressing for a man to whom honor was a fetish since he knew that he still loved Grace while at the same time realizing a still greater love for Shannon. She saw him coming and came down the driveway to meet him, her face radiant with the joy of his return and with that expression of love that is always patent to all with the object of its concern. Oh Custer, she cried. I'm so glad that you were home again. It has seemed years and years rather than months to all of us. I'm glad to be home Shannon. I have missed you too. I have missed you all, everything. The hills, the valley, every horse and cow and little pig, the clean air, the smell of flowers and sage, all that is gonado. You like it better than the city? I shall never long for the city again, he said. Cities are wonderful of course with their great buildings, their parks and boulevards, their fine residences, their lawns and gardens, the things that men have accomplished they are filled of fellow with admiration but how pitiful they really are compared with the magnificence that is ours. He turned and pointed toward the mountains. Just think of those hills Shannon and the infinite unthinkable power that uplifted such mighty monuments. Think of the countless ages that they have endured and then compare them with the puny efforts of man. Compare the range of vision of the city dweller with ours. He could see across the street into the top of some tall building which may look imposing but place it beside one of our hills and see what becomes of it. Place it in a ravine in the high Sierras and you would have difficulty in finding it. You cannot even think of it in connection with the mountain 15 or 20,000 feet in height. And yet the city man patronizes his country people deploring the necessity that compels us to pursue our circumscribed existence. Pretty him left Shannon. He is as narrow as his streets. His ideals can reach no higher than the pall of smoke that hangs over the roofs of his buildings. I am so glad cost that you've given up the idea of leaving the country for the city. I never really intended to be replied. I couldn't have left on father's account but now I can remain on my own as well as his and with a greater degree of contentment. You see that my recent experience was a blessing in disguise. I am glad if some good came out of it but it was a wicked injustice and there were others as innocent as you who suffered fully as much. Eva especially. I know he said she's been very lonely since I left with Grace away too. They tell me that you have constantly avoided them. Why? I cannot understand it. He had dismounted and tied the Apache and they were walking toward the porch. She stopped and turned to look at Custer squarely in the eyes. How could I have done otherwise? she asked. I do not understand he replied. She could not hold her eyes to his as she explained but looked down. Her expression changing from happiness to one of shame and sadness. You forget that girl, the friend of cousin William she asked. Oh Shannon he cried laying a hand impulsively upon her arm. I told you that I wouldn't say that to you. I didn't want you to stay away. I have implicit confidence in you. No she contradicted him in your heart you thought it and perhaps you were right. No he insisted. Please don't stay away. Promise me that you will not. You have hurt them all and they are all so fond of you. I am sorry Custer. I would not hurt them. I love them all but I thought I was doing the thing that you wished. There was so much that you did not understand that you can never understand and you were away where you could know what was going on. So it seemed disloyal to do the thing I thought you would rather I didn't do. It's all over now he said. Let's start over again forgetting all that has happened in the last six months and a half. Again his hand lay upon her arm. He was seized with an almost uncontrollable desire to crush her to him. Two things deterred him. His loyalty to the grace and the belief this love would be unwelcome to Shannon. End of chapter 29. Chapter 30 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recorded by Joe DeNoya, Somerset, New Jersey. Guy Evans swept over the broad smooth highway at a rate that would have won him 10 days in jail at Santa Ana had his course led him through that village. The impression that Custer's words had implanted in his mind was that grace was ill. Her penitent had not gone into the details of this unhappy interview with the girl. Choosing to leave to her brother realization of her change condition which would have been incredible to him even from the lips of so trusted a friend as Custer. And so it was that when he approached the bungalow on Circle Terrace and saw a coop standing at the curb he guessed at what it pretended. For though there were doubtless hundreds of similar cars in the city there was that about this one which suggested the profession of its owner. As Guy hurried up to walk to the front door he was as positive that he would find grace ill and a doctor in attendance as if someone had already told him so. There was no response to his ring and as the inner door was open he entered. The door on the opposite side of the living room was a jar. As Guy approached it a man appeared in the doorway and beyond him the visitor could see Grace lying very white and still upon a bed. Who are you? This woman's husband demanded the man in Kirk tones. I am her brother. What is the matter? Is she very ill? Did you know of her condition? I heard last night that she was not well and I hurried up here. I live in the country. Who are you? What has happened? She is not, my God, she is not yet. Perhaps we can save her. I am a doctor. I was called by a Japanese who said that he was a servant here. He must have left after he called me for I have not seen him. Her condition is serious and requires an immediate operation, an operation of such a nature that I must learn the name of her own physician and have him present. Where is her husband? Husband, my sister is not. Guy seats speaking and went suddenly white. My God, doctor, you don't mean that she, that my sister, oh no, not that. He sees the other's arm beseechingly. The doctor laid his hand upon the younger man's shoulder. She had a fall last night before last and an immediate operation is imperative. Her condition is such that we cannot even take the risk of moving her to a hospital. I have my instruments in my car, but I should have help. Who is her doctor? I do not know. I'll get someone. I have given her something to quiet her. The doctor stepped into the telephone and gave a number. Evans entered the room where his sister lay. She was moving about rustlessly and moaning, but it was evident that she was still unconscious. Changed, Guy wondered that he had not known her at all now that he was closer to her. Her face was pinched and drawn. Her beauty was gone, every vestige of it. She looked old and tired and haggard and there were terrible lines upon her face that stilled her brother's heart and brought tears to his eyes. He heard the doctor summoning an assistant and directing him to bring ether. Then he heard him go out of the house by the front door to get his instruments doubtless. The brother knelt by the girl's bed. Grace, he whispered in through an arm about her. Her lips fluttered and she opened her eyes. Guy, she recognized him. She was conscious. Who did this he demanded? What is his name? She shook her head. What's the use? She asked, it is done. Tell me, you would kill him and be punished. It would only make it worse for you and mother. Let it die with me. You were not going to die. Tell me, who is it? Do you love him? I hate him. How were you injured? He threw me against a table. Her voice was growing weaker. Choking back tears of grief and anger, the young man rose and stood beside her. Grace, I command you to tell me. His voice was low, but it was vibrant with power and authority. The girl tried to speak. Her lips moved, but she uttered no sound. Guy thought that she was dying and taking her secret to the grave. Her eyes moved to something beyond the foot of the bed and back again to whatever she had been looking at as if she thought to direct his attention to something in that part of the room. He followed the direction of her gaze. There was a dressing table there and on it a phonograph of a man in a silver frame. Guy stepped to the table and picked up the picture. This is he. His eyes demanded an answer. Her lips moved soundlessly and weakly she nodded in affirmative. What is his name? She was too weak to answer him. She gasped and her breath came flutteringly. The brother threw himself upon his knees beside the bed and took her in his arms. His tears mingled with his kisses on her cheek. The doctor came then and drew him away. She's dead, said the boy, turning away and covering his face with his hands. No, said the doctor after a brief examination. She is not dead. Get into the kitchen and get some water to boiling. I'll be getting things ready in here. Another doctor will be here in a few minutes. Glad of something to do, just to help. Guy hastened to the little kitchen. He found a kettle and a large pan and put water in them to boil. A moment later, the doctor came in. He had removed his coat and vest and rolled up his sleeves. He placed his instruments in the pan of water on the stove and then he went to the sink and washed his hands. While he scrubbed, he talked. He was an efficient looking business-like person and he inspired Guy with confidence and hope. She has a fighting chance, he said. I've seen worst cases pull through. She's had a bad time though. She must have been lying there for pretty close to 24 hours without any attention. I found her fully dressed on her bed, fully dressed except for what clothes she'd torn off in her pain. If someone had called the doctor yesterday at this time, it might have been all right. That may even be all right now. We'll do the best we can. The bell rang. That said, doctor, let him in, please. Guy went to the door and admitted the second physician who removed his coat and vest and went directly to the kitchen. The first doctor was entering the room of Grace Lay. He turned and spoke to his colleague, greeting him, that he disappeared within the adjoining room. The second doctor busied himself about the sink, sterilizing his hands. Guy lighted another burner and put on another vessel with water in it. A moment later, the first doctor returned to the kitchen. It will not be necessary to operate, doctor, he said. We were too late. His tone and manner was still very business-like and efficient, but there was an expression of compassion in his eyes as he crossed the room and put his arm about Guy's shoulders. Coming to the other room, my boy, I want to talk to you, he said. Guy, dry-eyed and walking almost as one in a trance, accompanying him to the little living room. You have had a hard blow, said the doctor. What I'm going to tell you may make it harder, but if she had been my sister, I should have wanted to know about it. She is better off. The chances are that she didn't want to live. She certainly made no fight for life, not since I was called. Why should she want to die, Guy asked Dully? We would have forgiven her. No one would ever have known about it but me. There was something else. She was a drug addict. That was probably the reason why she didn't want to live. The morphine I had given her to quiet her would have killed three ordinary men. And so Guy Evans came to know the terrible fate that had robbed his sister of her dreams, of her ambition, and finally, of her life. He placed the full responsibility upon the man whose picture I had stood in the silver frame upon the girl's dressing table. As he knelt beside the dead girl, he swore to search until he had learned the identity of that man and found him and forced for him the only expiation that could satisfy the honor of a brother. End of chapter 30. Chapter 31 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This lever of our recording is in the public domain. According by Joe DeNoya, Somerset, New Jersey. The death of Grace had, of course, its naturally depressing effect upon the circle of relatives and friends at Ganano. But her absence of more than a year, the infrequency of her letters and the fact that they had already come to feel that she was lost to them, mitigated to some degree the keenness of their grief and lessened its outward manifestations. Her pitiful end could not seriously interrupt the tenor of their lives, which had long since grown over the wound of her departure, as a tree's growth rolls over the hurt of a severed limb, leaving only the scar as a reminder of its loss. Miss Evans, Guy and Custard, suffered more than the others. Mrs. Evans, because of the natural instinct of motherhood and Custard from a sense of loss that seemed to have uprooted and torn away a part of his being, even though he realized that his love for Grace had been of a different sort from his hopeless passion for Shannon Burke. It was Guy who suffered most. For hugging to his breast was the annoying secret of the truth of his sister's life and death. He had told them that Grace had died of pneumonia and they had not gone behind his assertion to search the records for the truth. Locked in his desk was a silver frame and the picture of the man whose identity he had been unable to discover. The bungalow had been leased in Grace's name. The Japanese servant had disappeared and Guy had been unable to obtain any trace of him. The dead girl had had no friends in the neighborhood and there was no one who could tell him anything that might lead to the discovery of the man he saw. He did not, however, give up the search. He went off in the Hollywood where he haunted public places in the entrances to studios in the hope that someday he would find the man he saw. But as the passing months brought no success and the duties of his ranch and his literary work demanded more and more of his time, he was gradually compelled to push the further into his vengeance into the background, though without any lessening of his determination to compass it eventually. To Custer, the direct effect of Grace's death was to revive the habit of drinking more than was good for him, a habit from which he had drifted away during the past year. That had ever been a habit he would, of course, have been a last to admit. He was one of those men who could drink or leave it alone. The world was full of them and so were the cemeteries. Custer avoided shaming when he could do so without seeming unfriendly. Quite unreasonably, he felt that his love for Shannon was an indication of disloyalty to Grace. The latter's dismissal of him he had never taken as a serious valve of his heart. He realized that the woman who had spoken so bitterly had not been the girl he had loved and who's a vows of love he had listened to. Nor had she been the girl upon whose sad, tired face he had looked for the last time in the darkened living room of the Evan's home. For then, death had softened the hard lines of dissipation, revealing again, chasing melancholy, the soul that sin had disguised but not destroyed. Shannon recognized the change in Custer. She attributed to his grief and to his increased drinking, which she had sensed almost immediately as love does sense that slightest change in its object, however little apparent to another. She did not realize that she was purposely avoiding her. She was more than ever with Evan now, for Guy having settled down to the serious occupations of a man's estate no longer had so much leisure time to devote to play. She still occasionally wrote at night for the daytime rides with Custer were less frequent now. Much of his time was occupied closer in around the ranch with the conditioning of the show herds for the coming fall. An activity which gave him a plausible excuse for foregoing his rides with Shannon. The previous year they had been compelled to cancel their entries because of Custer's imprisonment, since the Colonel would not make the circuit of the shows himself and did not care to trust the herds to anyone but his son. Now the Morgans, the Perturans, the Herefords and the Berkshires that were to uphold the fame of Ganado over the center of arduous and painstakingly fitting and grooming as the time approached when the finishing touches were to be put upon glossy coats and polished horn and hoof. May, June and July had come and gone. It was August again. Guy's feudal visits to Los Angeles were now infrequent. The life of Ganado had again assumed the cheerfulness of the past. The heat of summer had brought the swimming pool into renewed demand and the cool evenings saved the ballroom from desertion. The youth of the Foothills and Valley, reinforced by weekend visitors from the city, filled the old house with laughter and happiness. Shannon was always of these parties, for they would not let her remain away. It was upon the occasion of one of them, early in August, that Eva announced the date of her wedding to Guy. The second of September, she told him, it comes on a Saturday. We're going to motor to hold on, caution Guy. That's a secret. And when we come back, we're to start building on Hill 13. That's a cow pastor, said Custer. Well, it won't be one anymore. You must find another cow pastor. Certainly little one, replied her brother, will bring the cows up here in the ballroom. With 5,000 acres to pick from, I suppose you can't find a cow pastor anywhere but on the best bungalow site in Southern California. You radium brother, you wouldn't have your little sister living in the hog pasture now, would you? Heavens, no, those nine children you aspire to would annoy the brood sows. You are hideous. Put on a foxtrot, someone, cried Guy. Dance with your sister, Custer, and you'll let her build bungalows all over Granado. No one can refuse her anything when they dance with her. I'll say they can't agree, Custer. Was that how she lured you to your undoing Guy? What a dapper little idea, exclaimed Eva. Guy danced that dance with Mrs. Pennington and the Colonel took out Shannon. As they moved over the smooth floor with the easy dignity that good dancers can impart to the foxtrot, the girl's eyes were often on the brother and sister dancing and laughing together. How wonderful they are, she said. Who, inquired the Colonel? Custer and Eva, there's such a wonderful relationship between brother and sister, the way it ought to be, but very seldom is. I don't know that that's unique, replied the Colonel. Guy and Grace were that way, and so were my father's children. Possibly it's because we were all raised in the country where children are more dependent upon their sisters and brothers for companionship than children of the city. We all get better acquainted in the country and we have to learn to find the best that is in each of us for we have in the choice of companions here that a city with its thousands affords. I don't know, said Shannon, perhaps that is it, but anyway, it is lovely, really lovely, for they are almost like two lovers. At first when I heard them teasing each other, I used to think there might be some bitterness in their thrusts, but when I came to know you all better, I realized that your affection was so perfect that there could never be any misunderstanding among you. That attitude is not peculiar to the Pennington's, replied the Colonel. I know for instance, of one who so perfectly harmonized with their lives, the ideals that in less than a year, she became practically one of them. He was smiling down at the Shannon's upturned face. I know, you mean me, she said. It is awfully nice of you, and it makes me very proud to hear you say so, for I've really tried to be like you. If I have succeeded at the least bit, I am so happy. I don't know that you have succeeded in being like us, he laughed, but we have certainly succeeded in being liked by us. Why, do you know, Shannon? I believe Mrs. Pennington and I discuss you and plan for you fully as much as we do the children. It is almost as if you were our other daughter. The tears came to her eyes. I'm so happy, she said again. It was later in the evening after a dance that she and Custer walked out of the driveway along the north side of the ballroom and stood looking out over the moon in Chanton Valley, a vista of loveliness glimpsed between masses of feathery foliage and an opening through the trees and the hillside just below them. They looked out across the acacias and cedars of the lower hill toward the lights of the little village twinkling between two dome-like hills at the upper end of the valley. It was an unusually warm evening, almost too warm to dance. I think we'll get a little of the ocean breeze, said Custer, if we're on the other side of the hill. Let's walk over to the water gardens. There's usually a breeze there, but the building cuts us off from it here. Side by side, in silence, they walked around the front of the building and along the south drive to the steps leading down through the water gardens to the stables. The steps were narrow and Custer went ahead, which is always the custom of many countries where they are rattlesnakes. As Shannon stepped from the cement steps to the gravel walk above the first pool, her foot came down upon a round stone, turning her ankle and throwing her against Custer. For support, she grasped her arm. Upon such insignificant trifles made the fate of lives depend it might have been a lizard, a toad, or a mouse, or even a rattlesnake that precipitated the moment which, for countless eons, creation had been preparing. But it was none of these. It was just a little round pebble and it threw Shannon Burke against Custer Pennington, causing her to seize his arm. He felt the contact of those fingers in the warmth of her body and her cheek near his shoulder. He threw an arm about her to support her. Almost infinitely, she had regained her footing. Laughingly, she drew away. I stepped on a stone, she said in explanation, but I didn't hurt my ankle. But still, he kept his arm around her. At first, Shannon did not understand, and supposing that he still thought her unable to stand alone, she again explained that she was unhurt. He stood looking down at her face, which was turned up to his. The moon, almost full, revealed her features as clearly as sunlight, how beautiful they were, and how close. She had not yet fully realized the significance of his attitude when he suddenly threw his other arm around her and crushed her to him. And then, before she could prevent, he had bent his lips to hers and kissed her full upon the mouth. With a startled cry, she pushed him away. Custer, she said, what have you done? This is not like you. I do not understand. She was really terrified, terrified at the thought that he might have kissed her without love, terrified that he might have kissed her with love. She did not know which would be the greater catastrophe. I couldn't help it, Shannon, he said. Blame the pebble, blame the moonlight, blame me. It won't make any difference. I couldn't help it. That is all there is to it. I fought against it for months. I knew you didn't love me. But, oh, Shannon, I love you. I had to tell you. He loved her. He had loved her for months. Oh, the horror of it. Her little dream of happiness was shattered. No longer could they go on as they had. There would always be this between them, the knowledge of his love, and he would learn of her love for him, for she could not lie to him if he asked her. Then she would either have to explain or to go away, to explain those hideous months with crumb. Custer would not believe the truth. No man would believe the truth that she'd come through them undefiled. She herself would not believe it of another woman. And she was too sophisticated to hope that the man who loved her would believe it of her. He had not let her go. They still stood there, his arms about her. Please don't be angry, Shannon, he begged. You may not want my love, but there's no disgrace in it. Maybe I shouldn't have kissed you, but I couldn't help it. I'm glad I did. I have that to remember as long as I live. Please don't be angry. Angry, she wished to God that he would crush her to him again and kiss her. Kiss her, kiss her like that now and forever. Why shouldn't he? Why shouldn't she let him? What has she done to deserve eternal punishment? There were countless wives less virtuous than she. Ah, if she could have but the happiness of his love. She closed her eyes and turned away her head. And for just an instant, she dreamed her beautiful dream. Why not? Why not? Why not? There could be no better wife than she, but there could be no greater love than hers. He noticed that she no longer drew away. There had been no look of anger in her eyes, only startled questioning, and her face was still so near. Again, his arms closed about her, and again, his lips found hers. This time, she did not deny him. She was only human, only a woman, and her love, growing steadily in power for many months, had suddenly burst forth in a consuming fire beneath his burning kisses. He felt her lips move in a fluttering sob beneath his, and then her dear arms stole up around his neck and pressed him closer in complete surrender. Shannon, you love me? Ah, dear boy, always. He drew her to the lower end of the pool, where a rustic seat stood half concealed by the foliage of a drooping umbilitry. There they sat and asked each other the same questions that lovers have asked since prehistoric man first invented speech, and that lovers will continue to ask so long as speech exists upon earth. Very important questions, by far the most important questions in the world. They did not know how long they sat there. To them it seemed but a moment when they heard voices calling their names from above. Shannon, Custer, where are you? It was Eva calling. I suppose we'll have to go, he said. Just one more kiss. She took a dozen. And then they rose and walked to the steps to the South Drive. Shall I tell them, he asked? Not yet, please. She was not sure that it would last. Such happiness was too sweet to endure. Eva spied them. We're in the world of YouTube, Ben, she demanded. We've been hunting all over for you and shouting until I'm hoarse. We've been right down there by the upper pool, trying to cool off her plant custer. It's too beastly hot to dance. You never thought so before, said Eva suspiciously. Do you know, I believe you two have been off spooning. How perfectly gorgeuristic. How perfectly nothing were applied, Custer. Old people, like Shannon and me, don't spoon. That's for you, kids. Eva came closer. Shannon, you better go and straighten your hair before anyone sees you. She laughed and pinched the other's arm. I'd love it, she whispered in Shannon's ear, if it were true. You'll tell me, won't you? If it ever comes true, dear, Shannon returned the whisper, usually the first to know about it. Scrumptious. But say, I've heard the divinest news. What do you think? Popsy has known it all day and never mentioned it. Forgot all about it, he said, until just before he and mother trotted off to bed. Did you ever hear of anything so outrageous? And now half the folks have gone home and I can't tell them. Oh, it's too spiffy for words. I've been longing and longing for it for months and months and months. Now it's gonna happen. It's really gonna happen. Actually gonna happen on Monday. For heaven's sake, little one, unwind and get to the end of your harrowing story. What's going to happen? Why the KKS company is coming on Monday and Wilson-Krum is coming with them? Shannon staggered almost as if from the force of a physical blow. Wilson-Krum coming? Coming to Ganado? Short indeed had been her sweet happiness. What's the matter, Shannon? As Custer solicitously. The girl studied herself quickly. Oh, it's nothing she said with a nervous laugh. I just felt a little dizzy for a moment. You'd better go in the house and lie down, he suggested. No, I think I'll go home if you'll drive me down, Custer. No, 10 o'clock is pretty late for us. It's Saturday night, said Eva. But I don't wanna miss my ride in the morning. You're all going, aren't you? I am, said Custer. He noticed that she was very quiet as to drove down to her place. And when they parted, she clung to him as if she would not bear to let him go. It was very wonderful, the miracle of his great love. As he drove back home, he could not think of anything else. He was not egotistical and it seemed strange that from all the men she must have known, Shannon had kept her love from him. With grace it had been different. Their love had grown up with them from childhood. It seemed no more remarkable that grace should love him than Eva should love him, but that he should love Grace. But Shannon had come to him out of a strange world, a world full of men where, with her beauty and her charm, she must have been an object of admiration to many. Yet she had brought her heart to him intact, for she had told him that she had never loved another. And she had told him the truth. End of chapter 31. Chapter 32 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This LeBervocs recording is in the public domain, recorded by Joe DeNoya, Somerset, New Jersey. After Custer left her, Shannon entered the bungalow and sat for a long time before a table on which stood a framed photograph of her mother. Never before she felt the need of loving counsel so sorely as now. In almost any other emergency, she could have gone to Mrs. Pennington, but in this she dared not. She knew the pride of the Penningtons. She realized the high altar upon which they placed the purity of their women in the sacred temple of their love. And she knew that none but the pure might enter. In her heart of hearts, she knew that she had the right to stand there besides his mother or his sister. But the pity of it was that she could never prove that right for who would believe her. Men had been hanged upon circumstantial evidence less damning than that which might be arrayed against her purity. No, if ever they should learn from her association with Wilson Crumb, they would cast her out of their lives as they would put a leper out of their home. Not even Coaster's love could survive such a blow to his honor and his pride. She did not think the less of him because of that, but she was wise enough in the ways of the world to know that pride and virtue are oftentimes uncompromising, even to narrowness. Her only hope therefore lay in avoiding discovery by Wilson Crumb during his stay at Guinano. Her love and the weakness that had induced permitted her to accept the happiness which an unkind fate had hitherto devoured her and to which even now her honor told her she had no right. She wished that Coaster had not loved her and that she might have continued to live the life that she learned to love where she might be near him and might constantly see him in the happy consociation of friendship. But with his arms about her and his kisses on her lips she had not had the strength to deny him or to dissimulate the great love which had ordered her very existence for many months. In the brief moments of bliss that had followed the avowal of his love she permitted herself to drift without thought of the future. But now that the sudden knowledge of the approaching arrival of Crumb had startled her into recollection of the past and consideration of its bearing upon the future she realized only two-pointedly the demands of honor required that sooner or later she herself must tell Coaster the whole-sorted story of those hideous months at Hollywood. There was no other way. She could not mate with a man unless she could match her honor with his. There was no alternative other than to go away forever. It was midnight before she arose and went to her room. She went deliberately to a drawer which she had kept locked and finding the key she opened it. From it she took the little black case and turning back the cover she revealed the files, the needles and the tiny syringe that had played so sinister a part in her past. What she was doing tonight she had done so often in the past year that I was almost assumed the proportions of a rite. It had been her want to parade her tempters before her that she might have the satisfaction of deriding them and proving the strength of the new will that her love for Custer Pennington had been so potent a factor in developing. Tonight she went a little further. She took a bit of cotton and placing it in the bowl of the spoon she dissolved some of the white powder with the aid of a lighting match held beneath the spoon and she drew the liquid into the syringe. Her nerves were over-raught and unstrung from the stress of the conflicting emotions that had endured that evening and the risk she took was greater than she guessed. And yet as she looked at the syringe and realized that his contents held a surcease of sorrow that held quiet and rest in peace she felt only repugnance toward it. Not even remotely did she consider the possibility of resorting again to the false happiness of morphine. She knew now that she was freer from its tentations than one who had never used it but she felt that after tonight with the avowal of Pennington's love still in her ears she must no longer keep in her possession the thing so diametrically opposed to the cleanliness of his life and his character. For months she had retained it as part of a system that she had conceived of ridding herself of its power. Without it she might never have known whether she could withstand the temptations of its presence. But now she had finished with it. She needed it no longer. With almost fanatical savagery she destroyed it crushing the glass files in the syringe beneath her heel and tearing a little case of shreds. Then gathering up the fragments she carried them to the fireplace in the living room and burned them. On the following day the horses and several loaves of properties from the KKS studio arrived at Ganano and the men who accompanied them pitched their camp well up in Jackknife Canyon. Ava was very much excited and spent much of her time on horseback watching their preparations. She tried to get Shannon to accompany her but the latter found various excuses to remain away being fearful that even though Crumb had not yet arrived there might be other employees of the studio who would recognize her. Crumb and the rest of the company came in the afternoon although they had not been expected until the following day. Ava who had made Custer ride up again with her in the afternoon recalled to the acting director the occasion upon which she had met him and they had danced together some year and a half before. As soon as he met her Crumb was struck by her beauty, youth and freshness. He saw in her a possible means of relieving the tedium of several weeks enforced absence from Hollywood though in the big brother he realized a possible obstacle unless he were able to carry on with proposed gallantries clandestinely. In the course of conversation he took occasion to remark that Ava ought to photograph well. I'll let them take a hundred feet of you he said someday when you're up here while you're working you might discover an unsung pick for it up here among the hills. She will remain unsung then said Custer curtly. My sister has no desire to go into pictures. How do you know I haven't asked Ava? After Grace he asked significantly. She turned to Crumb. I'm afraid I wouldn't make much of an actress she said but it would be perfectly radiant to see myself in pictures just once. Good he replied we'll get you all right someday that you're up here. I promised your brother that I wouldn't try to persuade you into pictures. I hope not said Custer. As he and Ava rode back toward the house he turned to the girl. I don't like that fellow Crumb he said. Why? She asked. It's hard to say. He just rose me the wrong way but I bet almost anything that he's a cat. I think he's perfectly divine said Ava with her usual enthusiasm. Custer grunted. The trouble with you announced Ava is that you're jealous of him because he's an actor. That's just like you men. Custer laughed. Maybe you're right he said but I don't like him and I hope you'll never go up there alone. Well I'm going to see them take pictures replied the girl. If I can't get anyone to go with me I'm going alone. I don't like the way he looked at you Ava. You're perfectly silly. You didn't look at me any differently than any other man does. I don't know about that. I haven't the same keen desire to punch the head of every man I see looking at you as I had in this case. Oh you're prejudiced. I bet anything is just perfectly lovely. Next morning finding no one with a leisure or inclination to ride with her Ava rode up again to the camp. They had already commenced shooting. Although Krum was busy he courageously took the time to explain the scene on which they were working and many of the technical details of picture making. He had a man hold her horse while she came and squinted through the finder. In fact he spent so much time with her that he materially delayed the work of the morning. At the same time the infatuation that had given his birth on the preceding day grew to greater proportions in his diseased mind. He asked her to stay and lunch with them when she insisted that she must return home he begged her to come again in the afternoon. Although she would have been glad to do so for she found the work that they were doing novel and interesting she declined his invitation as she already had made arrangements for the afternoon. He followed her to her horse and walked beside her down the road a short distance from the others. If you can't come down this afternoon he said possibly you can come up this evening. We're gonna take some night pictures. I hadn't intended inviting anyone because the work is gonna be rather difficult and dangerous but an audience might distract the attention of the actors. If you think you can get away alone I should be very glad to have you come up for a few minutes about nine o'clock. We shall be working in the same place. Don't forget he repeated that she started to write away that for this particular scene I really ought not to have any audience at all but if you come please don't tell anyone else about it. I'll come she said it's awfully good of you to ask me and I won't tell a soul. Crumb smiled as he turned back to his waiting company. Brought up in the atmosphere that has surrounded her since birth, unacquainted with any but honorable men and believing as she did that all men are the chivalrous protectors of all women. Ava did not suspect the guile that lay behind the director's courteous manner in fair words. She looked upon the coming and internal visit to the scene of their work as nothing more than a harmless adventure nor was there from her experience any cause for apprehension since the company comprised some 40 or 50 men and women who like anyone else would protect her from any harm that lay in their power to avert. Her conscience did not trouble her in the least although she regretted that she did not share her good fortune with the other members of her family and deplored the necessity of leaving the house surreptitiously like a thief in the night. Such things did not appeal to penitent standards but Ava satisfied these qualms by promising herself that she would tell them all about it at breakfast the next morning. After lunch that day, Custer went to his room and throwing himself on his bed with a book with the intention of reading for half an hour fell asleep. Shortly afterward, Shannon Burke feeling that there would be no danger of meeting any of the KKS people at the Pennington house rode up on the senator to keep her appointment with Ava. As she tied her horse upon the north side of the house Wilson Crumb stopped his car opposite the patio at the south drive. He had come up to see Colonel Pennington for the purpose of arranging for the use of a number of gonadal hearfords in the scene the following day. Not finding Ava in the family's sitting room Shannon passed through the house and out into the patio just as Wilson Crumb mounted the two steps to the arcade. Before Ava realized the presence of the other they were face to face scarce yard apart. Shannon went deathly white as she recognized a man beneath his makeup while Crumb stood speechless for a moment. My God, Gaza, you! He presently managed to exclaim, what are you doing here? Thank God I have found you at last. Don't, she begged. Please don't speak to me. I am living a decent life here. He laughed in a disagreeable manner. Decent, he scoffed. Where are you getting the snow? Who's putting up for it? I don't use it anymore, she said. The hell you don't. You can't put that over on me. Some other guy's furnishing it. I know you. You can't get along two hours without it. I'm not gonna stand for this. There isn't any guy gonna steal my girl. Hush, Wilson, she cautioned. For God's sake, keep still. Someone might hear you. I don't give a damn who hears me. I'm here to tell the world that no one's gonna take my girl away from me. I found you and you're going back with me. Do you understand? She came very close to him. Her eyes blazing wrathfully. I'm not going back with you, Wilson Crumb, she said. If you tell, or if you ever threaten me again in any way, I'll kill you. I managed to escape you and I found happiness at last. And no one shall take it away from me. What about my happiness? You live with me two years. I love you and, by God, I'm gonna have you if I have to. A door slammed behind them. And they both turned to see Custer Pennington standing in the arcade outside a store, looking at them. I begged your pardon, he said, his voice chilling. Did I interrupt? This man is looking for someone Custer, T'Channon, and turned to re-enter the house. Confronted by a man, Crumb's bravado had vanished. Intuitively, he guessed that he'd been looking at the man who had stolen Gaza from him. But he was a very big young man with broad shoulders and muscles that his flannel shirt and riding breeches did not conceal. Crumb decided that he was gonna have trouble with this man. It would be safer to commence hostilities at a time when the other was not looking. Yes, he said. I was looking for your father, Mr. Pennington. Father is not here. He has driven over to the village. What do you want? I wanted to see if I can arrange for the use of some of your here for tomorrow morning. Pennington was leaving the way toward Crumb's car. You can find out about that, he said, or anything else he may wish to know from the assistant foreman, who you'll usually find up at the other end around the cabin. If he isn't doubt about anything, he will consult with us personally so that will not be necessary, Mr. Crumb, for you to go to the trouble of coming to this house again. Custer's voice was level and low. He carried no suggestion of anger, yet there was that about it, which convinced Crumb that he was fortunate in not having been kicked off the hill physically rather than verbally. For kicked off he had been and advised to stay off into the bargain. He wondered how much Pennington had overheard in his conversation with Gaza. Shannon Burke, crouching in a big chair in a sitting room, was wondering the same thing. As a matter of fact, Custer had overheard practically all the conversation. The noise of Crumb's car had awakened him, but almost immediately he had fallen into a dose, through which the spoken words impinged upon his consciousness without any actual, immediate realization of their meaning, of the identity of the speakers. The moment he had become fully awake and found that he was listening to a conversation not intended for his ears, he had risen and gone into the patio. When finally he came to the sitting room where Shannon was, he made no mention of the occurrence, except to say that the visitor had wanted to see his father. It did not seem possible to Shannon that he could have failed to overhear at least a part of their conversation, for they were standing not more than a couple yards from the open window of the bedroom, and there was no other sound breaking the stillness of the August noon. She was sure that he had heard, yet his manner indicated that he had not. She waited a moment to see if he would be the first to approach the subject, but he did not. She determined to tell him then and there all that she had to tell, freeing her soul in her conscience of their burden, whatever the cost may be. She rose and came to where he was standing, and, placing a hand upon his arm, looked up into his eyes. Custer, she said, I have something to tell you. I also have told you before, but I have been afraid. Since last night, there's no alternative but to tell you. You do not have to tell me anything you do not want to tell me, he said. My confidence in you is implicit. I could not both love and distrust at the same time. I must tell you, she said, I only hope. Where in the world have you been Shannon? He cried, Eva, breaking suddenly into the sitting room. I've been away down to your place looking for you. I thought you were going to play golf with me this afternoon. That's what I came up for, said Shannon, turning toward her. Well, come on then. We'll have to hurry if we're going to play 18 holes this afternoon. Custer Pennington went to his room again after the girls had driven off in the direction of the country club. He wondered what it had been that Shannon wished to tell him. Round and round this mind rang the words of Wilson Crumb. You live with me two years. You live with me two years. She had been going to explain that, he was sure, but she did not have to explain it. The girl that he loved could have done no wrong. He trusted her, he was sure of her. But what place had that soft-faced cad had in her life? It was unthinkable that she had ever known him, much less than they had been upon intimate terms. Custer went to his closet and rummaged around for a bottle. It had been more than two weeks since he had taken a drink. The return to his old intimacy was Shannon, and the frequency with which he now saw her had again weaned him from his habit. But today he felt the need of a drink, of a big drink, stiff and neat. He swallowed a raw liquor as if it had been so much water. He wished now that he had punched Crumb's head when he had the chance, the cur. He had smoked into Shannon as if she was some common woman in the streets, Shannon Burke. Custer's Shannon. Feeling no reaction to the first drink, he took another. I'd like to get my fingers on his throat, he thought, before I choked the life of the girl in the next road, he thought. Before I choked the life out of him, I'd drag him up here and make him kiss the ground at her feet. But no, he could not do that. Others would see it and there would have to be explanations. And how could he explain it without casting reflections on Shannon? For hours he sat there in his room, nursing his anger, his jealousy and his grief, and all the time he drank and drank again. He went to his closet, got his belt and holster, and from his dressing drawer took a big ugly looking 45, a Colt's automatic. For a moment he stood holding it in his hand, looking at it. Almost caressingly he handled it, and they slipped it into the holster and his hip, put on his hat and started for the door. End of chapter 32. Chapter 33 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice-Pelrose. This is the box recording is in the public domain. I'm recording by Joe DeNoya, Somerset, New Jersey. Custer's gate showed no indication of the amount that he had drunk. He was a Pennington of Virginia and he can carry his liquor like a gentleman. Even though he was aflame with the heat of vengeance, his movements were slow and deliberate. At the door he paused and, turning, retraced his steps to the table or stood the bottle in the glass. The bottle was empty. He went to the closet and got another. Again he drank and as he stood there by the table, he commenced the plan again. There must be some reason for the thing he contemplated. There must be some reason so logical that the discovery of his act would in no way reflect upon Shannon Burke or draw her name into the publicity which must ensue. It required time to think out a feasible plan and time gave opportunity for additional drinks. The Colonel and Mrs. Pennington were away somewhere down in the valley. Eva and Shannon were the first to return. In passing along the arcade by Custer's open window, Eva saw him lying on his bed. She called to him but he did not answer. Shannon was at her side. What in the world do you suppose is the matter with Custer, asked Eva? They saw that he was fully dressed. They sat it falling forward over his eyes. The two girls entered the room and they could not arouse him by calling him from the outside. The two bottles and the glass upon the table told their own story. What they cannot tell, Shannon guessed. He had overheard the conversation between Wilson Crumb and herself. Eva removed the bottles and the glass to the closet. Poor cuss, she said. I never saw him like this before. I wonder what could have happened? What did we better do? Pulled down the shades by his bed, said Shannon, and this she did herself without waiting for Eva. No one can see him from the patio now. It would be just as well to leave him alone, I think, Eva, who will probably be all right after he wakes up. They went out of the room, closing the door after them, and a little later, Shannon mounted the senator and rode away toward home. Her thoughts were bitter. Wherever Crumb went, he brought misery. Whatever he touched, he defiled. She wished that he was dead. God, how she wished it. She could have killed him with her own hands for the grief that she had brought to Custer Pennington. She did not care so much about herself. She was used to suffering because of Wilson Crumb, but that he should bring his foulness to the purity of ganado was unthinkable. Her brief happiness was over. No, indeed, was there nothing more in life for her. She was not easily moved to tears, but that night she was still sobbing when she fell asleep. When the colonel and Mrs. Pennington arrived at the ranch house just before dinner, Eva told him that Custer was not feeling well and that he was laying down to sleep and had asked not to be disturbed. They did not go to his room at all, ended about half past eight, they retired for the night. Eva was very much excited. She had never before experienced the thrill of such an adventure as she was about to embark upon. As the time approached, she became more and more perturbed. The realization grew upon her that what she was now doing would seem highly objectionable to her family. But as her innocent heart held no suggestion of evil, she considered that her only wrong was the infraction of those unwritten laws of well-regulated homes which forbid the daughters going out alone at night. She would tell about it in the morning and weedle her father into forgiveness. Quickly she changed into riding clothes, leaving her room. She noiselessly passed the living room and the east wing to the kitchen and from there to the basement from which a tunnel led beneath the driveway and opened up on the hillside above the upper pool of the water gardens. To get her horse and saddle him required about a few moments. For the moon was full and the night almost like day. Her heart was beating with excitement as she rode up to Canyon toward the big sycamore that stood at the junction of Sycamore Canyon and El Camino Lago where Chrome had told her the night scenes would be taken. She walked her horse past the bunkhouse lest some of the men might hear her and when she was through the east gate beyond the old goat corral she broke into a canter. As she passed the mouth of Jackknife she glanced up to Canyon toward the site of the KKS camp but she could not see the lights as the camp was fairly well hidden from the main canyon by trees. As she approached El Camino Lago she saw that all was darkness. There was no sign of the artificial lights that she imagined they would use for shooting night scenes nor was there anything to indicate the presence of the actors. She continued on however until presently she saw the outlines of a car beneath the big sycamore. A man stepped out and hailed her. Is that you Miss Pennington he asked? Yes she said. Aren't you going to take the pictures tonight? She rode up quite close to him. It was Chrome. I'm just waiting for the others. Won't you dismount? As she swung from the saddle he led her horse to his car and tied him to the spare tire in the rear. Then he returned to the girl. As they talked he had directly turned the subject of their conversation toward the possibilities for fame and fortune which lay in pictures for a beautiful and talented girl. Long practice had made Wilson Chrome an adept in these evil arts. Ordinarily he worked very slowly considering that weeks or even months were not ill spent if they led toward the consummation of his desires. But in this instance he realized he must work quickly. He must take the girl by storm or not at all. So unsophisticated was Ava and so innocent that she did not realize that his conversation would have been palpable to one more worldly wise and because she did not repulse him Chrome thought that she was not averse to his advances. It was not until he seized her and tried to kiss her that she awoke to a realization of her danger and of the position in which her silly cojulity had placed her. She carried a quart in her hand and she was a Pennington. What matter that she was but a slender girl. The honor and the courage of a Pennington were hers. How dare you she cried attending the jerk away. When he would have persisted she raised a heavy quart and struck him across the face. My father shall hear of this and so shall the man I am to marry, Mr. Evans. Go slow, he growled angrily. Be careful what you tell. Remember that you came here alone at night to meet a man you have known only a day. How will you square that with your assertions of virtue, huh? And as for Evans, yes, one of your men told me today that you and he were gonna be married. As for him, the less you drag him into this the better it'll be for Evans and you too. She was walking toward her horse. She will suddenly toward him. Had I been armed, I would have killed you, she said. Any Pennington will kill you for what you have attempted. My father or my brother will kill you if you were here tomorrow, or I shall tell them what you have done. You'd better leave tonight. I'm advising you for their sakes, not for yours. He followed her then and when she mounted he seized her reins. Not a damn fast young lady. I've got something to say about this. You'll keep your mouth shut or I'll send Evans to depend where he belongs. Get out of my way, she commanded and put her spurs to her mount. The horse leaped forward or crumb clung to the reins checking him. Then she struck crumb again but he managed to seize the court and hold it. Now listen to me, he said. If you tell what happened here tonight I'll tell what I know about Evans and he'll go to the pen as sure as you're a silly little fool. You know nothing about Mr. Evans. You don't even know him. Listen, I'll tell you what I know. I know that Evans let your brother, who was innocent go to the pen for the thing that Evans was guilty of. The girl shrank back. You would lie, she cried. No, I don't lie either. I'm telling you the truth and I can bring plenty of witnesses to prove what I say. It was young Evans who handled all that stolen booze and sold it to some guy from LA. It was young Evans who got the money. He was getting rich on it till your brother butted in and crabbed his game. And then it was Evans who kept still and let an innocent man do time for him. That's the kind of fellow you're gonna marry. If you want the whole world to know about it you just tell your father or your brother anything about me. He saw the girl sink down into her saddle. Her head and shoulders drooping linked some lovely flower in the path of fire and he knew he had won. Then he let her go. It was half past nine o'clock when Colonel Pennington was aroused by someone knocking on the north door of his bedroom, the door that opened up to the North porch. Who is it, he asked. It was a stable man. Miss Evans horses out, sir, his man said. I heard a horse pass the bunkhouse by half an hour ago. I dressed and came up here to the stables to see if it was one of ours. Something seemed to tell me it was and I found her horse out. I thought I'd better tell you about it, sir. You can't tell, sir, with all of them picture people up in the canyon and what might be going on. We'll be lucky if we have any horses or tack left if they're here long. Miss Evans embeds to the Colonel, but we'll have to look at this at once. Custer's sick tonight, so he can't go with us. But if you will saddle up my horse and one for yourself, I'll dress and be right down. It can't be the motion picture people. They're not horse thieves. While the stable man returned to saddle the horses, the Colonel dressed. So sure was he that Eva was in bed that he did not even stop to look up into her room. As he left the house, he was buckling on a gun, a thing that he seldom carried, for even in the peaceful days that I've settled upon Southern California, a horse thief is still a horse thief. As he was descending the steps to the stable, he saw someone coming up. In the moonlight, there was no difficulty in recognizing the figure of his daughter. Eva, he exclaimed, where have you been? What are you doing out at this time of night alone? She did not answer, but threw herself in his arms sobbing. What is it? What has happened, child? Tell me. Her sobs choked her and she could not speak. Putting his arm around her, her father led her up the steps to her room. There he sat down and held her and tried to comfort her while he endeavored to extract a coherent statement from her. Little by little, word by word, she managed at last to tell him. You mustn't cry, dear, he said. You did a foolish thing going up there alone, but you did nothing wrong. And as for that fellow who told you about Guy, I don't believe it. But it's the truth, she sobbed. I know it is the truth now. Little things that I didn't think of before came back to me, and in the light of what the terrible man told me, I know that it's true. We always knew that Custer was innocent. I think what had changed came over Guy from the moment that Custer was arrested. He's been a different man ever since. And the money, the money that we were to be married on, I never stopped to try to reason it out. He had thousands of dollars. He told me not to tell anybody how much we had, and that was where it came from. It couldn't have come from anything else. Oh, Popsie, it is awful, and I loved him so. To think that he, the Guy Evans of all men, would have let my brother go to jail for something he did. Again, her sobs stifled her. Crying will do you no good, the Colonel said. Go to bed now, and tomorrow we will talk it over. Good night, little girl. Remember, we'll all stick to Guy no matter what he's done. He kissed her then and left her, but he did not return to his room. Instead, he went down to the stables and sell his horse. For the stable man, when Ava came in with the missing animal, had put it in its box and returned to the bunkhouse. The Colonel rode immediately to the sleeping camp in Jetknife Canyon. His calls went unanswered for a time, but presently a sleepy man stuck his head through the flap of a tent. What do you want, he asked. I'm looking for Mr. Crumb. Where is he? I don't know. He went away in his car early in the evening and hasn't come back. What's the matter anyway? You're the second fellow that's been looking for him. Oh, you're Colonel Pennington, aren't you? I didn't recognize you. While someone was here a little while ago I was looking for him, a young fellow on horseback. I think it must have been your son. Anything I can do for you? Yes, said the Colonel. In case I don't see Mr. Crumb, you can tell him or whoever's in charge that you're to break camp in the morning and be off my property by 10 o'clock. He wheeled his horse and rode down Jetknife Canyon towards Sycamore. Well, what the hell? It jackulated the sleepy man to himself and withdrew again into his tent. End of chapter 33. Chapter 34 of the Grove from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This is a slip of us recordings in the public domain, recorded by Joe DeNoya, Somerset, New Jersey. Shannon Burke, after a restless night, rose early in the morning to ride. She always found that the quiet and peace of the hills acted as a tonic on jangling nerves and dispelled, at least for the moment, any cloud of unhappiness that might be hovering over her. The first person to see her that morning was the flunky from KKS camp who was rustling wood for the cook's morning fire. So interested was he in her rather remarkable occupation that he stood watching her from behind a bush until she was out of sight. As long as he saw her, she rode slowly, dragging at her side a leafy bow which she moved to and fro as if sweeping the ground. She constantly looked back as if to note the effect of her work. And once or twice he saw her go over short stretches of the road a second time, brushing vigorously. It was quite light by that time and it was almost five o'clock and the sun was just rising as she dismounted at the ganado stables and hurried up the steps toward the house. The iron gate at the patio entrance had not yet been raised so she went around to the north side of the house and knocked on the colonel's bedroom door. He came from his dressing room to answer her knock before he was fully dressed and evidently on the point of leaving for his morning ride. The expression of her face noted that something was wrong even before she spoke. Colonel, she cried. Wilson-Krum has been killed. I rode early this morning as I came at the sycamore over El Camino Largo. I saw his body lying under a big tree there. They were both thinking the same thought which neither dared voice. Where was Custer? Did you notify the camp, he asked? No, I came directly here. You are sure that it is Krum and that he is dead, he asked? I'm sure that it is Krum. He was lying on his back and though I didn't dismount, I'm quite positive that he was dead. Mrs. Pennington had joined them, herself dressed for riding. How terrible she exclaimed. Terrible nothing exclaimed the colonel. I'm damn glad he's dead. Shannon looked at him in astonishment but Mrs. Pennington understood for the colonel had told her all that Ava had told him. He was a bad man, said Shannon. The world would be better off without him. You knew him, Colonel Pennington asked in surprise. I knew him in Hollywood, she replied. She knew now that they must all know sooner or later for she could not see how she could be kept out of the investigation and the trial that must follow. In her heart, she feared that Custer had killed Krum. The fact that he was drunk so heavily that afternoon indicated not only that he had overheard but that what he had heard had affected him profoundly. Profoundly enough to have suggested the killing of the man whom he believed to have wronged the woman he loved. The first thing to do, I suppose, said the colonel is to notify the sheriff. He left the room and went to the telephone. While he was away, Mrs. Pennington and Shannon discussed the tragedy and the older woman confided to the other the experiences that Ava had had with Krum the previous night. The beast murdered Shannon. Death was too good for him. Presently, the colonel returned to them. I think I'll go and see if the children are gonna ride with us, he said. There's no reason why we shouldn't ride as usual. He went to Ava's door and looked in. Apparently, she was still fast asleep. Her hair was down and her curls lay in soft confusion upon the pillow. Very gently, he closed the door again, glad that she could sleep. When he entered his son's room, he found Custer lying fully clothed upon his bed, his belt about his waist and his gun in his hip. His suspicions were crystallized into belief. But why had Custer killed Krum? He couldn't have known of the man's affront to Ava for she had seen no member of the family but her father. And in him alone, had she confided. He crossed to the bed and shook Custer by the shoulder. The younger man opened his eyes and sat up on the edge of the bed. He looked first at his father and then at himself, at his boots and spurs and breeches and the gun about his waist. What time is it, he asked? Five o'clock. I must have fallen asleep. I wish it was dinner time, I'm hungry. Dinner time, it's only a matter of a couple hours to breakfast. It's five o'clock in the morning. Custer rose to his feet and surprised. I must have loaded on more than I knew, he said with a wry smile. What do you mean, asked his father. I had a blue streak yesterday afternoon and I took a few drinks and here I have slept all the way through to the next morning. You haven't been out of your room since yesterday afternoon, asked the colonel. No, of course not. I thought it was still yesterday afternoon until you told me that it was the next morning, said Custer. The colonel ran his fingers through his hair. I'm glad, he said. Custer didn't know why his father was glad. Riding, he asked? Yes, I'll be with you in a jiffy. I want to wash up a bit. He met them at the stables a few minutes later. The effect of the liquor had entirely disappeared. He seemed his normal self again and not all of the man who had the blood of a new murderer on his soul. He was glad to see Shannon and squeezed her hand as he passed her horse to get on his own. In a few moments since his father had awakened him, he had reviewed the happenings of the previous day and his loyalty to the girl he loved that determined him that he had nothing to grieve about. Whatever had been between her and Crum, she would explain. Only the fact that Ava had interrupted her had kept him from knowing the whole truth the previous day. They were mounted and it started out when the colonel reigned to Custer's side. Shannon just made a gruesome find up in Sycamore, he said, and paused. If he had intended to surprise Custer into any indication of guilty knowledge, he failed. Gruesome find repeated the younger man. What was it? Wilson Crum has been murdered. Shannon found his body. The devil ejaculated Custer. Who do you suppose could have done it? Then, quite suddenly, his heart came to his mouth as he realized that there was only one present there who had caused to kill Wilson Crum. He did not dare to look at Shannon for a long time. They had gone only 100 yards when Custer pulled up the Apache and dismounted. I thought so, he said, looking at the horses off four foot. He pulled that shoe again. He must have done it in the corral before it was on when I put him in last night. You folks go ahead, I'll go back and settle Baldy. The stableman was still there and helped him. That was a new shoe, Custer said. Look about the corral in the box and see if you can find it. You can tack it back on. Then he swung to Baldy's back and cantered off at the others. A deputy sheriff came from the village of Ganado before they returned from their ride and went up to the canyon to take charge of Crum's body and investigate the scene of the crime. Ava was still in bed when they were called to breakfast. They insisted upon Shannon's remaining and the four were passing along the arcade past Ava's room. I think I'll go in and awaken her, said Mrs. Pennington. She doesn't like to sleep so late. The others passed into the living room and were walking toward the dining room when they were startled by a scream. Custer, Custer, Mrs. Pennington called to her husband. All three turned and hastened back to Ava's room where they found Mrs. Pennington half lying across the bed. Her body confulsed with sobs. The colonel was the first to reach her, followed by Custer and Shannon. The bedclothes lay half thrown back where Mrs. Pennington had turned them. The white sheet was stained with blood and an Ava's hand was close to revolver that Custer had given her the previous Christmas. My little girl, my little girl cried to the weeping mother. Why did you do it? The colonel knelt and put his arms about his wife. He could not speak. Custer Pennington stood like a man turned to stone. The shock seemed to have bereft him with the power to understand what had happened. Finally he turned gumbly toward Shannon. The tears were running down her cheeks. Gently she touched his sleeve. My poor boy, she said. The words broke the spell that had held him. He walked to the opposite side of the bed and made close to the still, white face of the sister he had worshiped. Dear little sister, how could you when we love you so, he said. Gently the colonel drew his wife away and, kneeling, placed his ear close above Ava's heart. There were no outward indications of life. But presently he lifted his head. An expression of hope were leaving that of grim despair which had settled upon his countenance of the first realization of the tragedy. She's not dead, he said. Get Baldwin. Get him at once. He was dressed in Custer. Then telephone carothers in Los Angeles to get down here as soon as God will let him. Custer hurried from the room to carry out his father's instructions. It was later while they were waiting for the arrival of the doctor that the colonel told Custer of Ava's experience with Crumb the previous night. She wanted to kill herself because of what he told her about Guy, he said. There was no other reason. Then the doctor came and they all stood in tense expectancy and mingled dread and hope while he made his examination. Carefully and deliberately the old doctor worked outwardly as calm and unaffected as if he were treating a minor injury to a stranger. Yet his heart was as heavy as theirs for he had brought Ava into the world and had known and loved her all her brief life. At last he straightened up to find the questioning eyes upon him. She still lives, he said, but there was no hope in his voice. I have sent for carothers to the colonel. He's on his way now. He told Custer that he'll be here in less than three hours. I arranged to have a couple of nurses sent out to sick Custer. Dr. Bulman made no reply. There's no hope, asked the colonel. There's always hope while there is life, replied the doctor, but you must not raise yours too high. They understood him and realized that there was very little hope. Can you keep her alive until carothers arrives, asked the colonel? I need not tell you that I shall do my best, was the reply. Guy had come with his mother. He seemed absolutely stunned by the catastrophe that had overwhelmed him. There was a wildness in his demeanor that frightened them all. It was necessary to watch him carefully for fear that he might attempt to destroy himself when he realized at last Ava was likely to die. He insisted that they should tell him all the circumstances that had led up to the pitiful tragedy. For a time they sought to conceal a part of the truth from him, but at last, so great was his insistence, they were compelled to reveal all that they knew. Of a nervous and excitable temperament and endowed by nature the character of extreme sensitiveness and comparatively little strength, the shock of the knowledge that it was his own acts that led Ava to self-destruction proved too much for Guy's overwrought nerves and brain. So violent did he become that Colonel Pennington and Custer together could scarce restrain him and it became necessary to send for two of the ranch employees. When the deputy sheriff came to question them about the murder of Crum, it was evident that Guy's mind was so greatly affected that he did not understand what was taking place around him. He had sunk into a morose silence broken at intervals by fits of raving. Later in the day at Dr. Baldwin's suggestion, he was removed to a sanatorium outside of Los Angeles. Guy's mental collapse and the necessity for constantly restraining him had resulted in taking Custer's mind from his own grief, at least for the moment. But when he was not thus occupied, he sat staring straight ahead of him in dumb despair. It was 11 o'clock when the best surgeon at Los Angeles can furnish arrived, bringing a nurse with him and Ava was still breathing when he came. Dr. Baldwin was there and together the three worked for an hour while the Penitins and Shannon waited almost hopelessly in the living room, Mrs. Evans having accompanied Guy to Los Angeles. Finally, after what seemed years, the door of the living room opened and Dr. Carothers entered. They scanned his face as he entered, but saw nothing there to lighten the burden of their apprehension. The colonel and Custer rose. Well, asked the former, his voice scarcely audible. The operation was successful. I found the bullet and removed it. She will live then, cried Mrs. Penitin, coming quickly toward him. He took her hands very gently in his. My dear madam, he said, it would be cruel for me to hold out useless hope. She has it more than one chance in a hundred. It is a miracle that she was still alive when you found her. Only a splendid constitution resulting from the life that she had led could possibly account for it. The mother turned away with a low moan. There's nothing more you can do, asked the colonel. I have done all that I can, replied Carothers. She will not last long. Maybe a matter of hours or only minutes, he replied. She's an excellent hand, however. No one could do more for her than Dr. Baldwin. The two nurses whom Custer had arranged for had arrived. When Dr. Carothers departed, he took his own nurse with him. It was afternoon when deputies from the sheriffs and coroner's offices arrived in Los Angeles, together with detectives from the district attorney's office. Crumb's body still lay where it had fallen, guarded by a constable from the village of Ganano. He was surrounded by members of his company, villagers, and nearby ranchers. Forward of the murder had spread rapidly in the district in that seemingly mysterious way in which news travels in rural communities. Among the crowd was Slick Allen, who had returned to the valley after his release from the county jail. A partially successful effort had been made to keep the crowd from tripling the ground in the immediate vicinity of the body. But beyond a limited area, whatever possible clues the murderer might have left in the shape of footprints had been entirely obliterated long before the officers arrived from Los Angeles. When the body was finally lifted from its resting place and placed in the ambulance and been brought from Los Angeles, one of the detectives picked up a horseshoe that had lean underneath the body. From its appearance, it was evident that it had been upon the horse's hoof very recently and had been torn off by force. As the detective examined the shoe, several of the crowd pressed forward to look at it. Among them was Allen. That's off young Pennington's horse, he said. How do you know that, inquired the detective. I used to work for them, took care of their saddle horses. This young Pennington's horse forges that the shoe was special to keep him from pulling the off force shoe. I could tell one of his shoes in a million. If they haven't walked all over his tracks, I could tell whether the horse had been up here or not. He stooped and examined the ground close to where the body had lain. There, he said pointing, there's an imprint of one of his hind feet. See the toe of that shoe was squared off. That was made by the Apache, all right. The detective was interested. He studied the hoof print carefully and searched for others. But this was the only one he could find. Looks like someone had been sweeping this place with a broomy remark. Very much of anything shows. A pimply-faced young man spoke up. There was someone sweeping the ground this morning, he said, about five o'clock in the morning. I seen a girl dragging a branch of a tree after her and sweeping along the road behind her. Did you know her, asked the detective? No, I've never seen her before. Would you know her if you saw her again? Sure, I'd know her. She was a pippin'. I'd know her horse, too. End of chapter 34.