assured that her inclination was to side with Hawley. Under all
the circumstances this was natural enough, and he did not blame her.

He glanced into the bar-room as he passed, not in any anticipation, but
merely from the vigilance which becomes second nature upon the frontier.
Hawley stood leaning against the bar, where he could see anyone passing
through the hall. The eyes of the two men met, but the gambler never
moved, never changed his attitude, although Keith noted that his right
hand was hidden beneath the skirts of his long coat. The plainsman drew
back, facing his enemy, until he reached the outer door. There was a
sneer on Hawley's dark sinister face like an invitation, but a memory of
the girl he had just left, and her dependence upon him, caused Keith to
avoid an encounter. He would fight this affair out in a different way.
As the door opened and he slipped forth into the gloom, he brushed
against a man apparently just entering. The gleam of light fell for
an instant upon the face of the other--it was Scotty with the red
moustache.

They had been watching for him then--what for? Hawley on the inside,
and this man Scott without, were waiting to determine when he left the
hotel; would probably dog his footsteps to discover where he went. Keith
loosened his revolver, so as to be assured he could draw quickly, and
slipped back into the shadow of the steps, his eyes on the door of
the hotel. There was a cold, drizzly rain falling, the streets almost
deserted, appearing sodden and miserable where the lights shone forth
through saloon windows. One or two men, seeking supper, coat collars
turned up and hats drawn low over their eyes, climbed the rickety steps
and went in, but no one came out. Perhaps he was mistaken as to the
purpose of those fellows; they may have desired merely to know when he
left, or Scott's return just at that moment might have been an accident.
To be sure, the hotel possessed a back exit, but he could not cover
both ends of the building, and must take his chances. It was too wet and
disagreeable to remain crouched there, now that it was evident there
was no intention of following him. With hand on the butt of his gun,
suspicious and watchful, yet with scarcely a faster beat to his heart,
Keith straightened up, and began splashing his way through the mud down
the street. He knew where Willoughby would be most likely found at this
hour--with cronies at the "Tenderfoot"--and he meant to discover