Winston remained staring blankly at the closed door behind which she
had so swiftly vanished, his mind a chaos of doubt. He assuredly never
purposed saying what he had said under the spur of deprivation, yet he
regretted no single word that he had uttered. That he earnestly
worshipped this briefly known woman was a fact borne in upon him
suddenly; yet now, the fact once completely realized, he surrendered
unconditionally to the inevitable. For a moment his thought of her
obscured all lesser things; he saw nothing else in the wide world
really worth striving after--every aroused impulse thrilled to the fair
face, the soft voice of Beth Norvell. He was no "quitter," no
faint-heart either in love or in war, and he was now far too deeply in
earnest to accept as final a stingless rejection spoken by lips that
were so openly contradicted by the smiling eyes above. Whatever of
stern necessity might have inspired the utterance of such words of cold
renunciation, it was assuredly neither indifference nor dislike. He
forgave the lips, recalling only the eyes.
With his hand still pressed against the porch railing, the young man
suddenly recalled Biff Farnham, his cool gray eyes as instantly
hardening, his lips pressed together. What possible part in the dusk
of the shadowed past did that disreputable gambler play? What
connection could he hold, either in honor or dishonor, with the
previous life history of Beth Norvell? He did not in the least doubt
her, for it was Winston's nature to be entirely loyal, to be
unsuspicious of those he once trusted. Yet he could not continue
completely blind. That there once existed some connection it was
impossible to ignore entirely. Her laughing, yet clearly embarrassed,
attempt at explanation had not in the slightest deceived him, for
beyond it remained her quick surprise at that earliest unexpected
mention of the man's name, the suddenly blanched cheeks, the
unconcealed fright revealed by the dark eyes. The full truth was to be
read there, and not in her later more deliberate attempt at leading his
suspicions astray. There was nothing pleasant about this thought, and
Winston's sensitive face flushed, his glance wandering uneasily down
the midnight street. For the space of a block, or more, where numerous
tents and low wooden buildings stood deserted of tenants, all remained
dark and silent; but just beyond glowed brilliantly the many-hued
lights of the wide-awake Poodle-Dog, and he could even hear the band
playing noisily within the still more distant dance hall. This
combined sight and sound served to arouse him to action and a cool
resolve. If he really intended to play out this game successfully he
must learn something of its conditions. Besides, he had now two most
excellent reasons for desiring to form an early acquaintance with this
man Farnham--the fellow had come across his line of life twice within
the past twelve hours. For the purpose there could be no time better
than the present. He struck a match against the rough railing and
lighted for himself a fresh cigar, his clear-cut, manly features
showing calmly determined in that instant glare of sputtering flame.
Almost unconsciously, following the instinct of his long Western
training, he slipped a revolver from its customary resting-place at the
hip, and dropped the weapon conveniently into the side pocket of his
loose sack coat. He had heard some tales of this man he purposed
seeking, and it might prove well to be prepared for emergencies.