ntry once in a while, and make him feel at home."

"Yes, of course," Bentley agreed, his mind not on the young man's
chatter nor his own reply. "Well, let's run through this hole and have
it over with."

Inside the door four dusty troopers, on detached duty from the military
post beyond Meander, sat playing cards. As they appeared to be fairly
sober, Walker approached them with inquiries.

No, they hadn't seen Dr. Slavens. Why? What had he done? Who wanted
him?

Explanations followed.

"Well," said a sergeant with service-stripes on his sleeve and a broad,
blue scar across his cheek, "if I'd 'a' drawed Number One you bet you
wouldn't have to be out lookin' for me. I'd be up on the highest point
in Comanche handin' out drinks to all my friends. Ain't seen him,
pardner. He ain't come in here in the last two hours, for we've been
right here at this table longer than that."

They passed on, to look upon the drunken, noisy dance in progress beyond
the canvas partition.

"Not here," said Walker. "But say! There's a man over there that I
know."

Bentley looked in that direction.

"The one dancing with the big woman in red," directed Walker.

Bentley had only a glance at Walker's friend, for the young man pulled
his arm and hurried him out. Outside Walker seemed to breathe easier.

"I'll tell you," he explained. "It's this way: I didn't suppose he'd
want to be seen in there by anybody that knew him. You see, he's the
Governor's son."

"Oh, I see," said Bentley.

"So if we happen to run across him tomorrow you'll not mention it, will
you?"

"I'll not be advertising it that I was in there in very big letters,"
Bentley assured him.

"A man does that kind of a thing once in a while," said Walker. "It
bears out what I was saying about the doctor. No matter how steady a man
is, it flies up and hits him that way once in a while."

"Maybe you're right," yielded Bentley. "I think we'd just as well go to
bed."

"Just as well," Walker agreed.

The chill of morning was in the air. As they went back the crowds had
thinned to dregs, and the lights in many tents were out.

"She thinks a lot of him, doesn't she?" observed Walker reflectively.

"Who?" asked Bentley, turning so quickly that it seemed as if he
started.

"Miss Horton," Walker replied. "And there's class to that girl, I'm here
to tell you!"

Agnes, in the darkness of her compartment, strained forward to catch the
sound of the doctor's voice when she h