CHAPTER XIX
THE RACE FOR THE REGISTER
Beside the little table Patty Sinclair listened to the sound of hoofssplashing through the shallows of the creek and thudding dully uponthe floor of the valley beyond. When the sounds told her that thehorseman had disappeared into the timber, she walked slowly to thedoor, and leaning her arm against the jamb, stared for a long timeinto the black sweep of woods that concealed the trail that led upwardto the notch in the hills, just discernible against the sky where thestars showed through the last faint blush of after-glow in winkingpoints of gold.
"Nothing here for me," she repeated dully. "Nothing but trees, andhills--and gold. He loves me," she laughed bitterly. "And yet, betweenme, and his jug, he chose--the jug." She closed the door, slipped thebar into place, thrust the photographs and map into her pocket, andthrew herself face downward upon the bunk. And, in the edge of thetimber, Vil Holland turned his horse slowly about and headed him upthe ravine. At the notch in the hills he slipped to the ground and,throwing an arm across the saddle, removed his Stetson and let thenight wind ripple his hair. Standing alone in the night with hissoul-hurt, he gazed far downward where a tiny square of yellow lightmarked the window of the cabin.
"It's hell--the way things work out," he said, thoughtfully. "Yes,sir, Buck, it sure is hell. If Len had told me a week ago about herhavin' to teach school, or even yesterday--she might have--But,now--she's rich. An' that cracked rock claim turnin' out to be_hers_--" He swung abruptly into the saddle and headed the buckskinfor camp.
Patty spent a miserable night. Brief periods of sleep wereinterspersed with long periods of wakefulness in which her braintraveled wearily over and over a long, long trail that ended always ata brown leather jug that swung by a strap from a saddle horn. She hadfound her father's claim--had accomplished the thing she had startedout to accomplish--had vindicated her father's judgment in the eyes ofthe people back home--had circumvented the machinations of Bethune,and in all probability, the moment that she recorded her claim wouldbe the possessor of more gold than she could possibly spend--and inthe achievement there was no joy. There was a dull hurt in her heart,and the future stretched away, uninviting, heart-sickening,interminable. The world looked drab.
She ate her breakfast by lamplight, and as objects began to take formin the pearly light of the new day, she saddled her horse and rode upthe trail to the notch in the hills--the trail that was a short cut,and that would carry her past Vil Holland's little white tent,nestling close beside its big rock at the edge of the little plateau."He will still be asleep, and I can take one more look at the far snowmountains from the spot that might have been the porch of--our cabin."
Carefully keeping to the damp ground that bordered the little creek,she worked her way around the huge rock, and drew up in amazement. Thelittle white tent was gone! Hastily, her eyes swept the plateau. Thebuckskin was gone, and the saddle was not hanging by its stirrup fromits accustomed limb-stub. Crossing the creek, the girl stared at therow of packs, the blanket roll, and the neat tarpaulin-coveredbundles that were ranged along the base of the rock.
"He has gone," she murmured, as if trying to grasp the fact and then,again: "He has gone." Slowly, her eyes raised to the high-flung peaksthat reared their snowy heads against the blue. And as she looked, thewords of Vil Holland formed themselves in her brain. "If there ain'tany 'we,' there won't be any cabin--so there's nothing to worryabout." "Nothing to worry about," she repeated bitterly, and touchingher horse with a spur, rode out across the plateau toward the head ofa coulee that led to the trail for town. "Where has he gone?" shewondered, and pulled up sharply as her horse entered the coulee.Riding slowly down the trail ahead, mounted on the meditative Gee Dot,was Microby Dandeline. Urging her horse forward Patty gained her side,and realizing that escape was hopeless, the girl stared sullenlywithout speaking.
"Why, Microby!" she smiled, ignoring the sullen stare, "you're milesfrom home, and it's hardly daylight! Where in the world are yougoing?"
"Hain't a-goin' nowher'. I'm prospectin'."
"Where's Vil Holland, have you seen him?"
The girl nodded: "He's done gone to town. He's mad, an' he roden fas'as Buck kin run, an' he says, 'I'm gonna file one more claim, an' tohell with the hill country, tell yo' dad good-by!'"
Patty sat for an instant as one stunned. "Gone to town! Mad! File onemore claim!" What did it mean? Why was Vil Holland riding to town asfast as his horse could run? And what claim was he going to file? Hehad mentioned no claim--and if he had just made a strike, surely hewould have mentioned it--last night. She knew that he already had aclaim, and that he considered it worthless. He told her once that hehadn't even bothered to work out the assessments--it was no good. Wasit possible that he was riding to file _her claim_? Was he no betterthan Bethune--only shrewder, more patient, richer in imagination?
With a swish the quirt descended upon her horse's flanks. The animalshot forward and, leaving Microby Dandeline staring open-mouthed,horse and rider dashed headlong down the coulee. Into the long whitetrail they swept, through the canyon, and out among the foothillstoward Thompsons'. "Why did I show him the map, and the pictures? Whydid I trust him? Why did I trust anybody? I see it all, now! Hiscontinual spying, and his plausible explanation that he was watchingBethune. He asked me to marry him, and when, like the poor little foolI was, I showed him the location, he was only too glad to get the minewithout being saddled with me."
If Vil Holland reached town first--well, she could teach school.Scalding tears blinded her as with quirt and spur she crowded herhorse to his utmost. Only one slender hope remained. With Thompson'sfresh horse, Lightning, she might yet win the race. The chance wasslim, but she would take it! Her own horse was laboring heavily, asolid lather of sweat, as his feet pounded the trail that wound whiteand hot through the foothills. "It's your last hard ride," she sobbedinto his ear as she urged him on. "Win or lose, boy, it's your lasthard ride--and we've got to make it!"
She whirled into Thompson's lane and, in the dooryard, threw herselffrom her horse almost into the arms of the big ranchman who stared ather in surprise. "Must be somethin's busted loose in the hills, thatfolks is all takin' to the open!" he exclaimed.
"Where's Lightning?" cried the girl. "Quick! I want him!"
"Lightnin'?" repeated Thompson. "Why, Lightnin's gone--Vil Hollandcome along an hour or so ago, an' rode him on to town. Turned Buckinto the corral, yonder--he was rode down almost as bad as yourn."
Patty's brain reeled dizzily as from a blow. Lightning gone! Her oneslim chance of saving her mine had vanished in a breath. She feltsuddenly weak, and sick, and leaning against her saddle for support,she closed her eyes and buried her face in her arm.
"What's the matter, Miss? Somethin' wrong?"
The girl laughed, a dry hard laugh, and raising her head, looked intothe man's face. "Oh, no!" she said. "Nothing's wrong--nothing exceptthat I've lost my father's claim--lost it because I relied on yourhorse to carry me into town in time to file ahead of _him_."
"Lost yer pa's claim?" cried Thompson. "What do you mean--lost? Hasthat devil dared to show his face after the horse raid?" He pausedsuddenly and smiled. "Now don't you go worryin' about that thereclaim. Vil Holland's on the job! I know'd there was somethin' in thewind when he come a-larrupin' in here an' jerked his kak offen Buckan' throw'd it on Lightnin' without hardly a word. Vil, he'll headhim! An' when he does, Bethune'll be lucky if he lives long enough togit hung!"
"Bethune! Bethune!" cried the girl bitterly. "Bethune's got nothing todo with it! It's Vil Holland himself that's going to file my claim.Have you got another horse here?" she cried. "If you have I want him.I'm not beaten yet! There's still a chance! Maybe Lightning will godown, or something. Quick--change my saddle!"
Catching up a rope, Thompson ran to the corral and throwing his loopover the head of a horse led him out and transferred the girl's saddleand bridle.
"I don't git the straight of it," he said, eying her with a puzzledfrown. "But if it's a quest
ion of gittin' to town before Vil Hollandkin beat you out of yer claim--you've got plenty of time--if youwalk."
Patty shot the man one glance of withering scorn. "You're all _crazy_!He's got you hypnotized! Everybody thinks he's a saint----"
Thompson grinned. "No, Miss, Vil ain't no saint--an' he ain't nodevil--neither. But somewheres between the two of 'em is the placewhere good men fits in--an' that's Vil. You're all het up needless,an' barkin' up the wrong tree, as folks used to say back where I comefrom. Just come and have a talk with Miz T. She'll straighten youaround all right. I'll slip in an' tell her to set the coffee-pot on,an' you kin take yer time about gittin' to town." Thompson disappearedinto the kitchen, and a moment later when he returned with his wife,the two stared in amazement at the flying figure that was justswinging from the lane into the long white trail.
Hours later the girl crossed the Mosquito Flats, forded the river, andpassed along the sandy street of the town. Her eyes felt hot and tiredfrom continual straining ahead in a vain effort to catch a glimpse ofa fallen horse, whose rider must continue his way on foot. But theplain was deserted, and the only evidence that anyone had proceededher was an occasional glimpse of hoof prints in the white dust of thetrail.
A short distance up the street, standing "tied to the ground" beforethe hitching rail of a little false-front saloon, was Lightning. Pattynoted as she passed that he showed signs of hard riding, and that theinevitable jug dangled motionless from the saddle horn. Her lipsstiffened, and her hand tightened on the bridle reins, as she forcedher eyes to the front. Farther on, she could see the littlewhite-painted frame office of the register. She would pass it by--nouse for her to go there. She must find Len Christie and tell him shehad come to teach his school. A great wave of repugnance swept overher, engulfed her, as her eyes traveled over the rows of small woodenhouses with their stiff, uncomfortable porches, their treeless yards,and their flaunting paintiness.
"And to think, that I've got to _live_ in one of them!" she murmured,dully. "Nothing could be worse--except the hotel."
Opposite the register's office she pulled up, and gazed in fascinationat the open door. Then deliberately she reined her horse to thesidewalk and dismounted. The characteristic thoroughness that hadmarked the progress of her search for her father's claim, and hadimpelled her to return to the false claim and procure the notice, andthat very morning had prompted her to ride against the slender chanceof Vil Holland's meeting with a mishap, impelled her now to read forherself the entry of her father's strike.
The register shoved his black skull-cap a trifle back upon his shinyhead, adjusted his thick eyeglasses, and smiled into the face of thegirl. "Things must be looking up out in the hills," he hazarded."You're the second one to-day and it ain't noon yet."
"I presume Mr. Holland has been here."
"Yes, Vil come in. I guess he's around somewheres. He----"
"Relinquished one claim and filed another?"
"That's just what he done."
Patty nodded wearily. She was gamely trying to appear disinterested.
"Did you want to file?" asked the man, whirling a large book about,and pushing it toward her. "Just enter your description there, an'fill out the application fer a patent, an' file your field notes, andplat."
The girl's glance strayed listlessly over the adjoining page, her eyesmechanically taking in the words. Suddenly, she became intenselyalert. She leaned over the book and reread with feverish interest thewritten description. The location was filed in Vil Holland'sname--but, _the description was not of her claim_!
"Where--where is this claim?" she gasped.
The old register turned the book and very deliberately proceeded toread the description. In her nervous excitement Patty felt that shemust scream, and her fingers clutched the counter edge until theknuckles whitened. Finally the man looked up. "That must be somewheresover on the Blackfoot side," he announced. "Must be Vil's figuring onpulling over there. Too bad we won't be seeing him much no more." Heswung the book back, as the import of his words dawned upon the girlshe leaned weakly against the counter.
"Ain't you feeling well?" asked the old man, eying her with concern.
Without hearing him Patty picked up the pen, and as she wrote, herhand trembled so that she could scarcely form the letters. At last itwas done, and the register once again swung the book and read thefreshly penned words.
"Well, I'll be darned!" he exclaimed, when he had finished.
The blood had rushed back into the girl's face and she was regardinghim with shining eyes. "What's the matter? Isn't it right? Because ifit isn't you can show me how to do it, and I'll fix it."
"Oh it's right--all right." He was eying her quizzically. "Only it'sblamed funny. That there's the claim Vil Holland just relinquished."
"_Just relinquished!_" gasped the girl, reaching out and shaking theold man's sleeve in her excitement. "What do you mean? Tell me!"
"Mean just what I said--here's the entry."
"Vil--Holland--just--relinquished," she repeated, in a dazed voice."When did he file it?"
"I don't recollect--it was back in the winter, or spring." The manbegan to turn the pages slowly backward. "Here it is, March, thethirteenth."
"Why, that was before I came out here!"
"How?"
"Why did he relinquish?" The words rushed eagerly from her lips, andshe awaited breathless, for the answer.
"It wasn't no good, I guess, or he found a better one--that's mostgenerally why they relinquish."
"No good! Found a better one!" From the chaos of conflicting ideas thegirl's thoughts began to take definite form. "The stakes in the groundwere _his_ stakes. Her father had never staked--would never havestaked until ready to file."
Gradually it dawned upon her that, without knowing it was herfather's, Vil Holland had staked and filed the claim. It was his. Hedid not know its value as her father had. He believed it to beworthless, but when he learned, only last night, back there in thecabin on Monte's Creek, that it was really of enormous value--that itwas the claim Rod Sinclair had staked his reputation on, the claimfor which Rod Sinclair's daughter had sought all summer--when helearned this he had relinquished--that she might come into her own!Hot tears filled her eyes and caused the objects in the little room toblur and swim together in hopeless jumble. She knew, now, the meaningof his furious ride, and why he had changed horses at Thompson's. And_this_ was the man she had doubted! She, alone of all who knew him,had doubted him. Her cheeks burned with the shame of it. Not once, butagain and again, she had doubted him--she, who loved him! This was theman with whom she had quarreled because he had carried a jug. Suddenlyshe realized why he had turned away from her--there in the littlecabin. She recalled the words that came slowly from his lips, as, fora brief moment he stood holding her hand. "There is nothing for you inthe hills." "And now, he is going away--his outfit's all packed, andhe's going away!" With a sob she dashed from the office. As sheblotted the tears from her eyes with a handkerchief that had been herfather's, a wild, savage joy surged up within her. He should _not_ goaway! He was hers--_hers_! If he went, she would go too. He shouldnever leave her! And never, never would she doubt him again!
She glanced down the street and her eyes fell upon Lightning, standingas he had stood a few minutes before. Only a moment she hesitated, andher spurs clicked rapidly as she hurried down the sidewalk. The doorof the saloon stood open and she walked boldly in. Vil Holland stoodat the bar shaking dice with the bartender. The latter looked upsurprised, and Vil followed his glance to the figure of the girl whohad paused just inside the doorway. She beckoned to him and hefollowed her out onto the sidewalk, and stood, Stetson in hand,regarding her gravely, unsmiling as was his wont.
"Vil--Vil Holland," she faltered, as a furious blush suffused hercheeks. "I've changed my mind."
"You mean----"
"I mean, I will marry you--I wanted to say it--lastnight--only--only----" her voice sounded husky, and far away.
"But, now, it's too late. It was differen
t--then. I didn't know you'dmade your strike. I thought we were both poor--but, now, you've struckit rich."
"Struck it rich!" flared the girl. "Who made it possible for me tostrike it rich? Don't you suppose I know you relinquished that claim?Relinquished it so I could file it!"
"Old Grebble talks too much," growled the man. "The claim wasn't anygood to me. I never went far enough in to get samples like those ofyour dad's. I'd have relinquished it anyway, as soon as I'd locatedanother."
"But, you knew it was rich when you did relinquish it."
"A man couldn't hardly do different, could he?"
"Oh, Vil," there were tears in the girl's eyes, and she did not try toconceal them. The words trembled on her lips. "A man couldn't--yourkind of a man! But--they're so hard to find. Don't--don't rob me ofmine--now that I've found him!"
A shrill whistle tore the words from her lips. She glanced up,startled, to see Vil Holland take his fingers from his teeth. Shefollowed his gaze, and a block away, in front of the woodenpost-office, saw the Reverend Len Christie whirl in his tracks. Thecowboy motioned him to wait, and taking the girl gently by the arm,turned her about, and together they walked toward the "Bishop of AllOutdoors," who awaited them with twinkling eyes.
"It's about the school, I presume," he greeted. "Everything is allarranged, Miss Sinclair. You may assume your duties to-morrow."
"If I was you, Len," replied Vil Holland, dryly, "I wouldn't gobettin' much on that presoomer of yours--it ain't workin' just right,an' Miss Sinclair has decided to assoom her duties to-day. So, havin'disposed of presoom, an' assoom, we'll rezoom, as you'd say if you wasdealin' from the pulpit, an' if you ain't got anything more importanton your mind, we'll just walk over to the church an' get married."
The Reverend Len Christie regarded his friend solemnly. "I didn'tthink it of you, Vil--when I bragged to you yesterday about theexcellent teacher I'd got--I didn't think you would slip right out andget her away from me!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry! Really, Mr. Christie, I didn't mean to disappointyou in this way, at the last minute----"
"Don't you go wastin' any sympathy on that old renegade," cut in Vil.
"That's right," laughed Christie, noting the genuine concern in thegirl's eyes. "As a matter of fact, I have in mind a substitute whowill be tickled to death to learn that she is to have the regularposition. Didn't I tell you out at the Samuelsons' that I had a hunchyou'd make your strike before school time? Of course, everyone knowsthat Vil is the one who made the real strike, but you'll find that theclaim you've staked isn't so bad, and that after you get down throughthe surface, you will run onto a whole lot of pure gold."
Patty who had been regarding him with a slightly puzzled expressionsuddenly caught his allusion, and she smiled happily into the face ofher cowboy. "I've already found pure gold," she said, "and it liesmighty close to the surface."
In the little church after the hastily summoned witnesses haddeparted, the Reverend Len Christie stood holding a hand of each."Never in my life have I performed a clerical office that gave me somuch genuine happiness and satisfaction," he announced.
"Me, neither," assented Vil Holland, heartily, and, then--"Hold on,Len. You're too blame young an' good lookin' for such tricks--an'besides, I've never kissed her, myself, yet----!"
"Where will it be now?" asked Holland, when they found themselves oncemore upon the street.
"Home--dear," whispered his wife. "You know we've got to get thatcabin up before snow flies--our cabin, Vil--with the porch that willlook out over the snows of the changing lights."
"If the whole town didn't have their heads out the window, watchin' usI'd kiss you right here," he answered, and strode off to lead herhorse up beside his own.
Swinging her into the saddle, he was about to mount Lightning, whenshe leaned over and raised the brown leather jug on its thong. "Why,it's empty!" she exclaimed.
"So it is," agreed Holland, with mock concern.
"Really, Vil, I don't care--so much. If it don't hurt men any morethan it has hurt you, I won't quarrel with it. I'll wait while you getit filled."
"Maybe I'd better," he said, and swinging it from the saddle horn,crossed the street and entered the general store. A few minutes laterhe returned and swung the jug into place.
"Why! Do they sell whisky at the store? I thought you got that at asaloon."
"Whisky!" The man looked up in surprise. "This jug never held anywhisky! It's my vinegar jug. I don't drink."
Patty stared at him in amazement. "Do you mean to tell me you carry ajug of vinegar with you wherever you go?"
For the first time since she had known him she saw that his eyes weretwinkling, and that his lips were very near a smile. "No, not exactly,but, you see, that first time I met you I happened to be riding fromtown with this jug full of vinegar. I noticed the look you gave it,an' it tickled me most to death. So, after that, every time I figuredI'd meet up with you I brought the jug along. I'd pour out the vinegaran' fill it up with water, an' sometimes I'd just pack it empty--thenwhen I'd hit town, I'd get it filled again. I bet Johnson, over there,thinks I'm picklin' me a winter's supply of prickly pears. I must havebought close to half a barrel of vinegar this summer."
"Vil Holland! You carried that jug--went to all that trouble, justto--to _tease_ me?"
"That's about the size of it. An' Gosh! How you hated that jug."
"It might have--it nearly did, make me hate _you_, too."
"'Might have,' an' 'nearly,' an' 'if,' are all words about alike--theyall sort of fall short of amountin' to anythin'. It 'might have'--but,somehow, things don't work out that way. The only thing that countsis, it didn't."
Out on the trail they met Watts riding toward town. "Wher's Microby?"he asked, addressing Patty.
"Microby! I haven't seen Microby since early this morning. She wasriding down a coulee not far from Vil's camp."
"Didn't yo' send for her?"
"I certainly did not!"
The man's hand fumbled at his beard. "Bethune was along last evenin'an' hed a talk with her, an' then he done tol' Ma yo' wanted Microbyshould come up to yo' place, come daylight. When I heern it, Imistrusted yo' wouldn't hev no truck with Bethune, so after I done thechores, I rode up ther'. They wasn't no one to hum." The simple-mindedman looked worried. "Bethune, he could do anything he wants with her.She thinks he's grand--but, I know different. Then I met up with LordClendennin' in the canyon, an' he tol' me how Bethune wus headin' ferCanady. He said, had I lost anythin'. An' I said 'no,' an' he laffedan' says he guess that's right."
As Vil Holland listened, his eyes hardened, and at the conclusion,something very like an oath ground from his lips. Patty glanced at himin surprise--never before had she seen him out of poise.
"You go back home," he advised Watts, in a kindly tone, "to the wifeand the kids. I'll find Microby for you!"
When the man had passed from sight into the dip of a coulee, Villeaned over and, drawing his wife close to his breast, kissed her lipsagain and again. "It's too bad, little girl, that our honeymoon's gotto be broke into this way, but you remember I told you once that if Iwon you'd have to be satisfied with what you got. You didn't know whatI meant, then, but you know, now--an' I'm goin' to win again! I'mgoin' to find that child! The poor little fool!" Patty saw that hiseyes were flashing, and his voice sounded hard:
"You ride back to town and tell Len to get his white goods togetheran' ride back with you to Watts's. There's goin' to be a funeral--orbetter yet, a weddin' _an'_ a funeral in it for him by this timeto-morrow, or my name ain't Vil Holland!" And then, abruptly, heturned and rode into the North.
A wild impulse to overtake him and dissuade him from his purpose tookpossession of the girl. But the thought of Microby in the power ofBethune, and of the sorrowing face of poor Watts stayed her. She sawher husband hitch his belt forward and swiftly look to his six-gun,and as the sound of galloping hoofs grew fainter, she watched hisdiminishing figure until it was swallowed up in the distance.
Impulsively she stretc
hed out her arms to him: "Good luck to you, myknight!" she called, but the words ended in a sob, and she turned herhorse and, with a vast happiness in her heart, rode back toward thetown.
THE END.
* * * * *
THE TEXAN
A Story of the Cattle Country
By
James B. Hendryx
Author of "The Promise," etc.
A novel of the cattle country and of the mountains, by James B. Hendryx, will at once commend itself to the host of readers who have enthusiastically followed this brilliant writer's work. Again he has written a red-blooded, romantic story of the great open spaces, of the men who "do" things and of the women who are brave--a tale at once turbulent and tender, impassioned but restrained.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
Now York London
* * * * *
The Gun-Brand
By
James B. Hendryx
Author of "The Promise," etc.
_12^o. Picture Wrapper and Color Frontispiece_
_$1.50 net. By mail, $1.65_
A novel of the Northwest, where civilization and savagery lock in the death struggle; where men of iron hearts are molded by a woman's tenderness; where knave and knight cross the barriers to confront each other in the great reckoning; where nobility and courage throw down the gage to evil and intrigue, and the gun-brand leaves its seared and indelible impress upon the brow of a scoundrel. Here's a novel of love and life, danger and daring.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York London
* * * * *
The Untamed
By
Max Brand
A tale of the West, a story of the Wild; of three strange comrades,--Whistling Dan of the untamed soul, within whose mild eyes there lurks the baleful yellow glare of beast anger; of the mighty black stallion Satan, King of the Ranges, and the wolf devil dog, to whom their master's word is the only law,--and of the Girl.
How Jim Silent, the "long-rider" and outlaw, declared feud with Dan, how of his right-hand men one strove for the Girl, one for the horse, and one to "'get' that black devil of a dog," and their desperate efforts to achieve their ends, form but part of the stirring action.
A tale of the West, yes--but a most unusual one, touched with an almost weird poetic fancy from the very first page, when over the sandy wastes sounds the clear sweet whistling of Pan of the desert, to the very last paragraph when the reader, too, hears the cry and the call of the wild geese flying south.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York London
* * * * *
THE MOON POOL
BY
A. MERRITT
Romance, real romance, and wonderful adventure,--absolutely impossible, yet utterly probable! A story one almost regrets having read, since one can then no longer read it for the first time. Once in the proverbial blue moon there comes to the fore an author who can conceive and write such a tale. Here is one!
Few indeed will forget, who, with the Professor, watch the mystic approach of the Shining One down the moon path,--who follow with him and the others the path below the Moon Pool, beyond the Door of the Seven Lights;--and would there were more characters in fiction like Lakla the lovely and Larry O'Keefe the lovable.
Perhaps you readers will know who were those weird and awe-inspiring Silent Ones.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK LONDON
* * * * *
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