of getting there. Keith turned impatiently to the
clerk.

"Any train running east?"

"Well, they generally start one out every day,", with a glance toward
the clock, "'long 'bout this time. Maybe it's gone, and maybe it
hasn't."

It was already nearly dark outside as the two men hastened toward the
depot. They arrived there barely in time to see the red lights on the
last car disappear. No inquiries made of those lounging about brought
results--they had been interested in a lot of drunken graders loaded on
the flat cars by force, and sent out under guard--and not one could
tell whether any man answering Waite's description was in the single
passenger coach. Convinced, however, that the General would waste no
time in prosecuting his search, Keith believed him already on his way
east, and after dismissing Neb, with instructions to watch out closely
for Hawley, he made his own way back to the hotel.

It seemed strange enough how completely he was blocked each time, just
as he thought the whole baffling mystery was about to be made clear.
Hawley was playing in rare luck, all the cards running easily to his
hand, thus, at least, gaining time, and strengthening his position.
There could no longer be any doubt that the gambler possessed some
knowledge which made him a formidable adversary. From Waite's statement
it was the loss of the papers which left him helpless to openly resist
the claim being made upon him on behalf of the mysterious Phyllis. His
only hope, therefore, lay in recovering these; but, with time limited,
he had been sent back on a wild goose chase, while Keith alone knew,
with any degree of positiveness, where those documents really were.
Hawley certainly had them in his possession the day before, for he had
taken them to Miss Maclaire to thus convince her as to the truth of his
statements. And Hawley was still in Sheridan. However, it was not likely
the man would risk carrying documents of such value, and documents
connecting him so closely with that murder on the Santa Fe Trail, about
upon his person. At best, life was cheap in that community, and Black
Bart must possess enemies in plenty. Yet if not on his person--where?
Scott was only a tool, a mere ignorant desperado, not to be trusted
to such a degree--yet apparently he was the only one working with
the gambler in this deal, the only one cognizant as to his plans.
Christie--Keith came to a stop in the street at the recurrence of the
woman's name. Wh