ssed the Good Luck Saloon and went
tramping down the dusty road. He never glanced back until he turned
into the north trail at the edge of town; there the path dropped
suddenly toward the bed of the creek, and he was concealed from view.
In the rock shadow he paused, chuckling grimly as he observed the New
Yorker cross the street to the hotel, hastening, no doubt, to interview
Timmons.

There was a crooked trail along the bank of the stream which joined the
main road at the west end of the lower bridge. It led up the canon
amid rocks and cedars, causing it to assume a strangely tortuous
course, and its lower end was shadowed by overhanging willows. Along
this Westcott lingered at the hour set, watchful of the road leading
toward Haskell.

The only carriage belonging to the town livery passed soon after his
arrival, evidently bound for the station, and from his covert he
recognised Beaton lolling carelessly in the back seat. This must mean
that the man expected arrivals on the afternoon train, important
arrivals whom he desired to honour. There was no sign, however, of
Miss Donovan; the time was up, yet with no evidence of her approach.

Westcott waited patiently, arguing to himself that her delay might be
caused by her wish to get Beaton well out of the way before she
ventured to leave the hotel. At last he strode down the path to the
bridge, and saw her leaning over the rail, staring at the ripples below.

"Why," he exclaimed in surprise, "how long have you been here?"

"Several minutes," and she turned to face him. "I waited until the
carriage passed before coming onto the bridge. I took the foot-path
from the hotel."

"Oh, I see--from the other way. I was waiting in the trail below. You
saw who was in the carriage?"

"Beaton--yes," quietly. "He expects some friends, and wishes me to
meet them--Eastern people, you know."

Her indifference ruffled his temper, aroused his suspicion of her
purpose.

"You sent for me; there is some explanation, no doubt?"

The lady smiled, lifting her eyes to his face.

"There is," she answered. "A perfectly satisfactory one, I believe;
but this place is too prominent, as I have a rather long story to tell.
Beaton and his friends will be returning soon."

"There is a rock seat below, just beyond the clump of willows, quite
out of sight from the road," he suggested. "Perhaps you would go with
me there?"

"What trail is that?"

"It leads to mines up the canon