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thickened. “I do. God, shut the door if you’re going to ... Oh, God.”
    Edith fled.
    It seemed only a few minutes later that she sat up in her bed, the clothing she’d never removed twisted about her body. She had no memory of lying down, only of dreaming she was on board a ship. The bed seemed to mimic the motion of a ship even now, heaving high and dipping low. She put her feet on the floor and groaned, her eyes burning.
    Orpheus sang loudly, despite his covered cage. The frantic note in his song penetrated her exhausted sense. Coughing, Edith tried to stand. A haze lingered before her eyes. There had been cannons in her dream, white-hot mouths belching forth smoke and deadly iron. Was she still asleep? For she could still see the smoke.
    As her little bird sang furiously, Edith realized that this choking smoke was no phantom following her from a nightmare but harsh reality. The boardinghouse was on fire.
     

Chapter 3
     
    Jefferson Dane awoke to someone knocking at his hotel-room door. “What is it?”
    ‘‘Mr. Dane, sir? It’s Josh. The hall boy?”
    Sighing, Jeff sat up, disoriented. He could distinguish the light curtains fluttering in the breeze from the opened window but that was all. It was enough, though, to lead him to the door.
    He jerked it open. “If this is the way your hotel treats its guests, I’ll be pulling out in the morning.”
    Seeing the hall boy blinking at him in alarm, Jeff moderated his tone. “What’s up, Josh?”
    “Please, Mr. Dane, sir, Mr. Dilworthy sent me up, sir. He’s in an awful stew, sir.”
    “If he’s drunk it’s no reason to wake up half the hotel. Tell him to sleep it off. Or pour a gallon of coffee down his gullet. It’s nothing to do with me.”
    The image of the austere desk clerk stewed to the gills brought an impudent smile to the hall boy’s round face, as Jeff had meant it to. “I wish he was tight—I shore do. But that’s not what’s the matter. It’s this crazy girl.”
    “What girl?”
    “She’s down at the desk. And, boy, she’s something. Looks like she was dragged around some, and her hat’s on backwards, smuts and soot all over her, and . . . oh, yeah . . . she’s got a canary in a cage. Keeps asking for you.”
    “What time is it?” Jeff yawned, glancing over the boy’s head at the flickering gas jets that illuminated the hall.
    “‘Bout half-past twelve. I was just about to get some shut-eye myself. So, you going to come on down, sir? Mr. Dilworthy says . . .”
    “I can guess,” Jeff answered, having taken the desk clerk’s measure when he’d checked in. Officious, nosy, and suspicious, Dilworthy would be just the fellow to take care of a drunk or a lunatic. The hour was late, and he could feel sleep tugging at him like an impatient woman.
    “Tell Dilworthy to slip the gal a couple of dollars. She’ll probably take it and go. I’ll give it back to him tomorrow.”
    “Okay,” Josh said with a nod. “He was getting ready to call the police but he figured maybe you knew her.”
    “Doesn’t sound like it. Good night.”
    “Good night, sir.” The boy, absurd in his tight waistcoat and too-long pants, headed down the hall.
    “Hey, Josh? Don’t wake me up again for anything less than a war or an election, okay?”
    Closing the door, Jeff stretched for a moment before padding back to bed. The talk about the Texas cattle fever had gone on since lunch, his fellow Missouri cattlemen ranting and raving about the general cussedness of the Texan in general. He himself had always run a clean herd, mostly by keeping the Texans out of whatever means necessary, even with a gun on occasion. He thanked providence and his parents once again for putting his ranch halfway between Sedalia and St. Louis. It didn’t often pay the Texas men to come that far out of their route—not yet.
    Jeff lay his long body down on the bed, his arms flung wide. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t find a comfortable spot. He’d slept better in the