Keith did not inform Hope of her brother's death until the followingmorning, but had the body properly prepared for burial, and devoted theremainder of the night to searching for General Waite and, incidentally,for both Hawley and Scott. Both Hickock and Fairbain assisted in thiseffort to learn the whereabouts of the dead boy's father, but withoutthe slightest result, nor did Keith's investigations reveal the gamblerat any of his accustomed resorts, while Scott had apparently made acomplete get-away. These disappearances merely served to convince himas to the truth of his first suspicions; Scott might have departed forgood, but Hawley would certainly reappear just so soon as assured hisname had not been mentioned in connection with the tragedy. To Neb alonedid the plainsman candidly confide his belief in the guilt of these two,and when other duties called him elsewhere, he left the negro scouringthe town for any possible reappearance of either.
Heavy-eyed from lack of sleep, heavy-hearted with his message, yet fullydecided as to what advice he should offer, Keith returned to the hotel,and requested an interview with Hope. Although still comparativelyearly, some premonition of evil had awakened the girl, and in a very fewmoments she was prepared to receive her visitor. A questioning glanceinto his face was sufficient to assure her of unpleasant news, but,with one quick breath, she grasped his arm as though his very presenceafforded her strength.
"How tired you look! Something has occurred to keep you out allnight--and--and I know you have brought me bad news. Don't be afraid totell me; I can bear anything better than suspense. Is it about father?"
"No, Hope," and he took her hand, and led her to a chair. Bendingabove her he gave her the whole story of the night, and she scarcelyinterrupted with a question, sitting there dry-eyed, with only anoccasional sob shaking her slender form. As he ended, she looked up intohis face, and now he could see a mist of unshed tears in her eyes.
"What shall I do, Captain Keith? I am all alone with this, except foryou."
"I have considered that, Hope," he answered, gravely, "and it seems tome your present duty is more to the living than the dead. You shouldremain here until we learn something definite regarding your father, anddiscover the truth of this conspiracy formed against him. If Fred couldknow the trouble his chance words have caused, he would wish you to dothis. With him gone, we are going to find the unravelling harder thanever. It is my judgment, Hope, your brother should be buried here."
She shuddered, her hands pressed to her eyes.
"Oh, on that horrible 'Boots Hill'?"
"Only temporarily, little girl," his voice full of deepest sympathy. "Ina few weeks, perhaps, it could be removed East."
She was silent for what seemed to him a long while; then she looked upinto his face, clinging to his arm.
"Yes," she said, "that will be best."
That same afternoon, the sun low in the west, they placed the dead boyin his shallow grave on "Boots Hill." It was a strange funeral, in astrange environment--all about the barren, deserted plains; far away tothe east and west, the darker line marking the railroad grade, and justbelow, nestled close in against the foot of the hill, the squalid townof tents and shacks. There were not many to stand beside the open grave,for few in Sheridan knew the lad, and funerals were not uncommon--somecronies, half-drunk and maudlin, awed somewhat by the presence of themarshal, Doctor Fairbain, Keith, and Hope. That was all excepting thepost chaplain from Fort Hays, who, inspired by a glimpse of the girl'sunveiled face, spoke simple words of comfort. It was all over withquickly, and with the red sun still lingering on the horizon, the littleparty slowly wended their way back, down the steep trail into the onelong street of Sheridan.
At the hotel Neb was waiting, the whites of his eyes shining withexcitement, his pantomime indicating important news. As soon as he couldleave Hope, Keith hurried down to interview his dusky satellite, whoappeared about to burst with restrained information. As soon as uncorkedthat individual began to flow volubly:
"I sho' done seed 'em, Massa Jack; I done seed 'em both."
"Both? Both who?"
"Massa Waite, sah, an' dat black debble dat we was huntin' fo'. It was amos' surprisin' circumstance, sah--a mos' surprisin' circumstance."
"Well, go on; where did you see them? Do you mean they were together?"
The negro took a long breath, evidently overcome by the importance ofhis message, and unable to conjure up words wholly satisfactory to hisideas.
"It sho' am de strangest t'ing, Massa Jack, ebber I prognosticated. Iwas jest comin' roun' de corner ob Sheeny Joe's shebang, back dar by deblacksmith shop, when--de Lawd save me!--yere come ol' Massa Waite, aridin' 'long on a cream colo'd pinto just as much alibe as ebber he was.Yas, sah; he's whiskers was blowin' round, an' I could eben yeah himcussin' de hoss, when he done shy at a man what got up sudden likefrom a cart-wheel he was settin' on. I done took one look at dat secon'fellar, and seed it was dat black debble from down Carson way. Den Iducked inter de blacksmith shop out 'er sight. I sho' didn't want MisterHawley to git no chance at dis nigger--I sho' didn't."
"Did they speak to one another?" Keith asked, anxiously. "Did you hearwhat was said?"
"Sho' dey talked, Massa Jack. I sorter reckon dey was dar for datspecial purpose. Sutt'nly, sah, dey went right at talkin' like dey hedsom't'ing on dey minds. Ol' Massa Waite was a sittin' straight up on dehoss, an' dat black debble was a standin' dar in front ob him. Ol'Massa Waite he was mad from de first jump off, an' I could heah mosteberyt'ing he said, but Mr. Hawley he grin de same way he do when hedeal faro, an' speaks kinder low. De ol' man he swear fine at him, hecall him eberyt'ing--a damn liar, a damn scoundrel--but Mr. Hawley hejest grin, and say ober de same ting."
"What was that, Neb?"
"Som't'ing 'bout a gal, Massa Jack--an' a law suit--an' how de ol' manbetter settle up widout no fightin'. I jest didn't git de whole ob it,he talked so low like."
"What did Waite say?"
"Well, mostly he jest cussed. He sho' told dat black debble 'bout whathe thought ob him, but he didn't nebber once call him Hawley--no, sah,not once; he done call him Bartlett, or somet'ing or odder like dat.But he sutt'nly read dat man's pedigree from way back to de time obde flood, I reck'n. An' he done swore he'd fight for whatebber itwas, papers or no papers. Den Hawley, he got plumb tired ob de ol' manswearin' at him, an' he grabbed a picter out ob he's pocket, an' says,'Damn you; look at dat! What kind ob a fight can yo' make against datface?' De ol' man stared at it a while, sorter chokin' up; den he saysofter like: 'It's Hope; where did yo' ebber get dat?' and de blackdebble he laughed, an' shoved de picter back into he's pocket. 'Hope,hell!' he say, 'it's Phyllis, an' I'll put her before any jury yo'remind to get--oh, I've got yo' nailed, Waite, dis time.'"
"Was that all?"
"De ol' gin'ral he didn't seem ter know what ter say; he done set darlookin' off ober de prairie like he was clar flumegasted. He sho' didlook like dat black debble hed hit him mighty hard. Den he says slowlike, turnin' his hoss 'round: 'Bartlett, yo' am puttin' up a goodbluff, but, by Gawd, I'm goin' ter call yo'. Yo' don't get a cent ob datmoney 'less yo' put up de proof. I'll meet yo' whar yo' say, but ef Ican git hol' ob some papers dat's missin' I'll take dat grin off yo'face.' De odder one laughed, an' de ol' gin'ral started fo' ter rideaway, den he pull up he's hoss, an' look back. 'Yo' sorter herd wid datkind ob cattle, Bartlett,' he say, sharp like, 'maybe yo' know a gamblerroun' yere called Hawley?' De black debble nebber eben lose he's grin.'Do yo' mean Black Bart Hawley?' 'Dat's the man, where is he?' 'Dealin'faro fo' Mike Kenna in Topeka a week ago--friend ob yours?' 'Dat's noneob yo' damned business,' snorted de ol' gin'ral, givin' his hoss despur. Sho', Massa Jack, he nebber knowed he was talkin' ter dat sameHawley, an' dat black debble jest laughed as he rode off."
"When was all this, Neb?"
"'Bout de time yo' all went up on de hill, I reck'n. I done come rightyere, and waited."
Keith walked across the room, selected a cigar, and came back, hismind busy with the problem. Hawley had in some manner, then, got intocommunication with Wai
te, and was threatening him. But Waite evidentlyknew the man under another name--his given name--and the gambler hadsent him off on a false trail. The lost papers apparently contained thesolution to all this mystery. Waite believed Hawley possessed them,but did not suspect that Bartlett and Hawley were the same person. Whatwould he most naturally do now? Seek Hawley in Topeka probably; seizethe first opportunity of getting there. Keith turned impatiently to theclerk.
"Any train running east?"
"Well, they generally start one out every day,", with a glance towardthe clock, "'long 'bout this time. Maybe it's gone, and maybe ithasn't."
It was already nearly dark outside as the two men hastened toward thedepot. They arrived there barely in time to see the red lights on thelast car disappear. No inquiries made of those lounging about broughtresults--they had been interested in a lot of drunken graders loaded onthe flat cars by force, and sent out under guard--and not one couldtell whether any man answering Waite's description was in the singlepassenger coach. Convinced, however, that the General would waste notime in prosecuting his search, Keith believed him already on his wayeast, and after dismissing Neb, with instructions to watch out closelyfor Hawley, he made his own way back to the hotel.
It seemed strange enough how completely he was blocked each time, justas he thought the whole baffling mystery was about to be made clear.Hawley was playing in rare luck, all the cards running easily to hishand, thus, at least, gaining time, and strengthening his position.There could no longer be any doubt that the gambler possessed someknowledge which made him a formidable adversary. From Waite's statementit was the loss of the papers which left him helpless to openly resistthe claim being made upon him on behalf of the mysterious Phyllis. Hisonly 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 hadtaken them to Miss Maclaire to thus convince her as to the truth of hisstatements. And Hawley was still in Sheridan. However, it was not likelythe man would risk carrying documents of such value, and documentsconnecting him so closely with that murder on the Santa Fe Trail, aboutupon his person. At best, life was cheap in that community, and BlackBart must possess enemies in plenty. Yet if not on his person--where?Scott was only a tool, a mere ignorant desperado, not to be trustedto such a degree--yet apparently he was the only one working withthe 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 thewoman's name. Why not? If she had been convinced, if she really believedthat these papers proved her right to both property and parentage, thenshe would guard them as a tigress does her young. And Hawley would knowthat, and must realize they would be far safer in her hands than in hispocket. She could not use them without his aid and guidance, and yet,whatever happened to him, they would still be safely beyond reach. True,this might not have been done; the gambler might not yet have felt thathe had sufficient hold upon the woman to trust her thus far, but it was,at least, a possibility to be considered, and acted upon.
Still wrestling with the intricate problem, Keith entered thedining-room, and weaved his way, as usual, through the miscellaneouscrowd, toward the more exclusive tables at the rear. A woman sat aloneat one of these, her back toward the door. His first thought was thatit must be Hope, and he advanced toward her, his heart throbbing.She glanced up, a slight frown wrinkling her forehead, and he bowed,recognizing Christie Maclaire.
Chapter XXVI. A Chance Conversation