The note of unrestrained joy of relief in the woman's voice rang throughthe room, stilling all else, and causing those who heard to forget foran instant the sterner purpose of their gathering. Fairbain bent overher, like a fat guardian angel, patting her shoulder, her eyes soblurred with tears as to be practically sightless, yet still turnedquestioningly upon Waite. The sheriff was first to recover speech, and asense of duty.
"Then this lets Miss Maclaire out of the conspiracy charge," he said,gravely, "but it doesn't make it any brighter for Hawley so far as I cansee--there's a robbery charge against him if nothing else. Any one hereknow where the fellow is?"
For a moment no one answered, although Keith took a step forward,reminded instantly of Hope's predicament. Before he could speak,however, Christie looked up, with swift gesture pushing back herloosened hair.
"He was to have met me at the theatre to-night," she said, her voicetrembling, "but was not there when I came out; he--he said he hadimportant news for me."
"And failed to show up--did he send no message?"
"Doctor Fairbain was waiting for me instead. He said that Mr. Hawley wascalled suddenly out of town."
The eyes of the sheriff turned to Fairbain, whose face grew redder thanusual, as he shifted his gaze toward Keith.
"That was a lie," he confessed, lamely. "I--I was told to say that."
"Just a moment, Sheriff," and Keith stood before them, his voice clearand convincing. "My name is Keith, and I have unavoidably been mixed upin this affair from the beginning. Just now I can relieve the doctor ofhis embarrassment. Miss Hope Waite and I have been associated togetherin an effort to solve this mystery. This evening, taking advantage ofthe remarkable resemblance existing between herself and Miss Maclaire,Miss Hope decided upon a mask--"
"What's that," Waite broke in excitedly. "Is Hope here?"
"Yes, has been for a week; we've had all the police force of Sheridanhunting you."
The old man stared at the speaker, open-mouthed, and muttered somethingabout Fort Hays, but Keith, paying little attention to him, hurried onwith his story.
"As I say, she decided upon impersonating Christie here, hoping in thisway to learn more regarding Hawley's plans. We had discovered that thetwo were to meet after the evening performance at the stage door of theTrocadero. I escorted Hope there, dressed as near like Miss Maclaire aspossible, and left her inside the vestibule waiting for 'Black Bart' toappear. At the head of the alley I ran into Fairbain, told him somethingof the circumstances, and persuaded him to escort Miss Christie back tothe hotel. He was not very hard to persuade. Well, Hawley came, and Hopemet him; they went out of the alley-way together arm in arm, talkingpleasantly, and turned this way toward the hotel. The doctor and I bothsaw and heard them. I was delayed not to exceed two minutes, speakinga final word to Fairbain, and when I reached the street they haddisappeared. I have hunted them everywhere without finding a trace--Ihave even been through the resorts. She has not returned to the hotel,and I burst in upon you here hoping that Miss Maclaire might have someinformation."
She shook her head, and Waite, glaring impotently at the two of them,swore sharply.
"Good God, man! my girl! Hope, alone with that damn villain. Come on,Sheriff; we've got to find her. Wait though!" and he strode almostmenacingly across the room. "First, I want to know who the devil youare?"
Keith straightened up, looking directly into the fierce questioningeyes.
"I have told you my name--Jack Keith," he replied, quietly. "DoctorFairbain knows something of me, but for your further information I willadd that when we met before I was Captain Keith, Third Virginia Cavalry,and bearing despatches from Longstreet to Stonewall Jackson."
The gruff old soldier, half-crazed by the news of his daughter's peril,the gleam of his eyes still revealing uncontrolled temper, stared at theyounger face fronting him; then slowly he held out his hand.
"Keith--Keith," he repeated, as though bringing back the name withan effort. "By God, that's so--old Jefferson Keith's boy--killed atAntietam. And you know Hope?"
"Yes, General."
He looked about as though dazed, and the sheriff broke in not unkindly.
"Well, Waite, if we are going to search for your daughter we betterbe at it. Come on, all of you; Miss Maclaire will be safe enough herealone."
He took hold of Keith's arm, questioning him briefly as they passed downthe hall. On the stairs the latter took his turn, still confused by whathe had just heard.
"Who is Miss Maclaire?" he asked.
"Phyllis Gale."
"Of course, but who is Phyllis Gale? What has she to do with GeneralWaite? His daughter has told me she never heard of any one by thatname."
"Well, Keith, the old man has never told me very much; he's prettyclose-mouthed, except for swearing, but I've read his papers, and pickedup a point or two. I reckon the daughter, Miss Hope, maybe never hearda word about it, but the boy--the one that was shot--must have stumbledonto the story and repeated it to Hawley. That's what set that fellowgoing. It seems Mrs. Waite's maiden name was Pierpont, and when she wasseventeen years old she was married to the son of a rich North Carolinaplanter. The fellow was a drunken, dissolute good-for-nothing. They hada daughter born--this Phyllis--and when the child was three years oldher father, in a fit of drunken rage, ran away, and to spite his wifetook the little girl with him. All efforts to trace them failed, and themother finally secured a divorce and, two years later, married WillisWaite. Waite, of course, knew these facts, but probably they were nevertold to the children. When the father of Mrs. Waite's first husbanddied, he left all his large property to his grandchild, providing shecould be found and identified within a certain time, failing which theproperty was to be distributed among certain designated charities. Waitewas named sole administrator. Well, the old man took as much interestin it as though it was his own girl, but made mighty little progress. Hedid discover that the father had taken the child to St. Louis and lefther there with a woman named Raymond, but after the woman died the girlcompletely disappeared."
"Then Miss Maclaire is Hope Waite's half-sister?"
"That's the way it looks now."
"And Hawley merely happened to stumble on to the right party?"
"Sure; it's clear enough how that came about. The boy told him about thelost heiress his father was searching after, and showed him his sister'spicture. 'Black Bart' instantly recognized her resemblance to ChristieMaclaire, and thought he saw a good chance for some easy money. Heneeded the papers, however, to ascertain exactly the terms of the will,and what would be necessary for the identification. He never intendedto go into court, but hoped to either get Waite out of the way, or elseconvince him that Christie was the girl, relying on her gratitude forhis profits. When Waite played into his hands by coming to Carson City,the chance was too good to be lost. I'm not sure he meant to kill him,but he did mean to have those papers at any cost. Probably you know therest--the girl was easy, because she was so ignorant of her parentage,and nothing prevented Hawley from winning except that Waite got mad anddecided to fight. That knocked over the whole thing."
They were outside now, and the first touch of the cool night air, thefirst glance up and down the noisy street, brought Keith to himself,his mind ready to grapple with the problem of Hope's disappearance. Itseemed to him he had already looked everywhere, yet there was nothing todo except to continue the search, only more systematically. Thesheriff assumed control--clear headed, and accustomed to that sort ofthing--calling in Hickock and his deputies to assist, and fairlycombing the town from one end to the other. Not a rat could have slippedunobserved through the net he dragged down that long street, or itsintersecting alleys--but it was without result; nowhere was there founda trace of either the gambler or his companion.
They dug into saloons, bagnios, dance-halls, searching back roomsand questioning inmates; they routed out every occupant of the hotel,invaded boarding houses, and explored shacks and tents, indifferent tothe protests of those disturbed,--but without result.
They found severalwho knew Hawley, others who had seen the two together passing by thelighted windows of the Trocadero, but beyond that--nothing. Convinced,at last, that the parties sought were not alive in Sheridan, andbeginning to fear the worst, the searchers separated, and beganspreading forth over the black surrounding prairie, and by the light oflanterns seeking any semblance of trail. There was no lack of volunteersfor this work, but it was daylight before the slightest clue presenteditself. Keith, with the sheriff and two or three others, had gropedtheir way outward until, with the first flush of dawn, they foundthemselves at the opening of a small rocky ravine, near the footof "Boots Hill." Peering down into its still shadowed depths, theydiscerned what appeared like a body lying there motionless. Keith sprangdown beside it, and turned the rigid form over until the dead face wasrevealed in the wan light--it was that of the red moustached Scott. Hestaggered back at the recognition, barely able to ejaculate.
"Here, Sheriff! This is one of Hawley's men!"
The sheriff was bending instantly above the corpse, searching for thetruth.
"You know the fellow?"
"Yes, his name was Scott."
"Well, he's been dead some hours, at least six I should say; shot justabove the eye, and good Heavens! look here, Keith, at the size of thisbullet wound; that's no man's gun in this country--no more than a '32'I'd say."
"Miss Waite had a small revolver. She must have shot the fellow. But whydid they leave the body here to be discovered?"
The sheriff arose to his feet, prowling about in the brightening glow ofthe dawn.
"They were in a hurry to get away, and knew he wouldn't be found beforemorning. A six hours' start means a good deal. They did drag him backout of sight--look here. This was where the struggle took place, andhere is where the man fell," tracing it out upon the ground. "The girlput up a stiff fight, too--see where they dragged her up the path. Fromthe footprints there must have been half a dozen in the party. Get backout of the way, Sims, while I follow their trail."
It was plain enough, now they had daylight to assist them, and ledaround the edge of the hill. A hundred feet away they came to wherehorses had been standing, the trampled sod evidencing they must havebeen there for some considerable time. Keith and the sheriff circledout until they finally struck the trail of the party, which led forthsouthwest across the prairie.
"Seven horses, one being led light," said the former. "That was Scott's,probably."
"That's the whole story," replied the sheriff, staring off toward thebare horizon, "and the cusses have at least six hours the start withfresh horses." He turned around. "Well, boys, that takes 'em out of mybaliwick, I reckon. Some of the rest of you will have to run that gangdown."
Chapter XXXII. Fairbain and Christie