CHAPTER XII
A SUMMONS FROM KING BILL OF HELL'S GOBLET
THUNDER RIVER ranch house, having echoed with much merry making during the past ten days, now drowsed comfortably upon the iron flank of the mountain, its wide doors closed softly behind the last of the departing guests. Beatrice Corliss had seen her friends go with eyes which she knew were not properly regretful. She had been gay to match their gaiety, she had entertained them after the proverbial open handed Corliss manner, she had borne in upon their eager minds the glittering fact that even "here in the wilderness, apart from their world," a talented and lavish hostess had at her disposal many a novel thrill to give them. Old tales of the sparkle and splendour of Corliss hospitality were to be added to by these folk trooping back to the whirl of the city. They would come again, oh, at any time that Beatrice would have them; perhaps swept hitherwards by the surging summer tide.
But, in going from Beatrice's house, they went swiftly from her thought. She had much to do and was impatient to be doing. So impatient, in fact, that even while giving herself up as hostess during afternoons and evenings, she had reserved both keen interest and energy for the work ahead. During these few days she had formed a new habit, that of rising in the crisp
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