m to his own thoughts. These were far from happy ones, as
his mind rapidly reviewed the situation and endeavoured to concentrate
upon some practical plan of action.

So Bill Lacy expected him? Had left word where he was to be found?
What was the probable meaning of this? Westcott did not connect this
message directly with the strange disappearance of Miss Donovan.
Whether or not Lacy was concerned in that outrage had nothing to do
with this, for the man could scarcely be aware of his deep interest in
the girl. No, this must be his own personal affair, complicated by the
case of Cavendish. Moore must have recognised him during their fight,
and reported to his master who it was that had been discovered
listening at the window. Realising the nature of that conversation,
Lacy naturally anticipated being sought the very moment Westcott came
to town. That was what this meant. All right, he would hunt Lacy as
soon as he was ready to do so; and, as Timmons suggested, would go
"heeled."

But the girl? What had really become of the girl? There was no way of
proving she had not gone East, for there was no agent at the station at
that hour, and the night train could be halted by any one waving a
signal light. Westcott drew the brief note from his pocket, smoothed
out its creases and read the few words over again. The writing was
unquestionably feminine, and he could recall seeing nothing Miss
Donovan had ever indited, with which it could be compared. But would
she have departed, however hurriedly, without leaving him some message?
To be sure there had been little enough between them of intimacy or
understanding; nothing he could really construe into a promise--yet he
had given her complete trust, and had felt a friendly response. He
could not compel himself to believe she would prove unfaithful.
Unconsciously he still held the letter in his hand when the waitress
came in with his breakfast. She glanced about to make certain they
were alone and leaned over, her lips close to his ear.

"Is that the note they say that New York young lady left?"

"Yes, Sadie," in surprise. "Why?"

"Well, she never wrote it, Mr. Westcott," hurriedly placing the dishes
before him, "that's all. Now don't yer say a word to anybody that I
told yer; but she didn't go East at all; she wus took in a wagon down
the desert road. I saw 'em take her."

"You saw them? Who?"

"Well, I don't just know that, 'cept it was Matt Moore's team, a