Dr. Fairbain had originally joined the searching party, fully as eageras Keith himself to run down the renegade Hawley, but after an hour ofresultless effort, his entire thought shifted to the woman they had leftalone at the hotel. He could not, as yet, fully grasp the situation, buthe remained loyal to the one overpowering truth that he loved ChristieMaclaire. Fairbain's nature was rough, original, yet loyal to the core.He had lived all his life long in army camps, and upon the frontier, andhis code of honor was extremely simple. It never once occurred to himthat Christie's profession was not of the highest, or that her life andassociations in any way unfitted her for the future. To his mind she wasthe one and only woman. His last memory of her, as the little party ofmen filed out of that room, haunted him until he finally dropped out ofthe search, and drifted back toward the hotel.
It was a late hour, yet it was hardly likely the woman had retired.Her excitement, her interest in the pursuit, would surely prevent that;moreover, he was certain he saw a light still burning in her room, ashe looked up from the black street below. Nevertheless he hesitated,uncertain of his reception. Bluff, emphatic, never afraid to face a manin his life, his heart now beat fiercely as he endeavored to muster thenecessary courage. Far down the dark street some roysterer fired a shot,and sudden fear lest he might be sought after professionally sent thedoctor hurriedly within, and up the stairs. He stood, just outside herdoor, quaking like a child, the perspiration beading his forehead, but alight streamed through the transom, and he could plainly hear movementswithin. At last, in a sudden spasm of courage, he knocked softly.Even in that noisy spot she heard instantly, opening the door withouthesitation, and standing fully dressed within. She was no longer adiscouraged, sobbing girl, but an aroused, intent woman, into whosepathetic, lonely life there had come a new hope. She appeared younger,fairer, with the light shimmering in her hair and her eyes smilingwelcome.
"Oh, Doctor," and her hands were thrust out towards him, "I am glad youhave come. Somehow, I thought you would, and I have wanted so to talk tosomeone--to you."
"To me! Do you really mean that, Miss Christie?"
"Yes, I really mean that, you great bear of a man," and the girl laughedlightly, dragging him into the room, and closing the door. "Why, whoelse could I expect to come to-night? You were the only one really goodto me. You--you acted as if you believed in me all the time--"
"I did, Christie; you bet I did," broke in the delighted doctor, everynerve tingling. "I'd 'a' cleaned out that whole gang if you'd only saidso, but I reckon now it was better to let them tell all they knew. Itwas like a thunder storm clearing the atmosphere."
"Oh, it was, indeed! Now I know who I am--who I am! Isn't that simplyglorious? Sit down, Doctor Fairbain, there in the big chair where I cansee your face. I want to talk, talk, talk; I want to ask questions,a thousand questions; but it wouldn't do any good to ask them of you,would it? You don't know anything about my family, do you?"
"Not very much, I am afraid, only that you have got an almighty prettyhalf-sister," admitted the man, emphatically, "and old Waite possessesthe vilest temper ever given a human being. He's no blood kin to you,though."
"No, but he is awfully good underneath, isn't he?"
"Got a heart of pure gold, old Waite. Why, I've seen him cry like a babyover one of his men that got hurt."
"Have you known him, then, for a long while?"
"Ever since the Spring of '61. I was brigaded with him all through thewar, and had to cut a bullet or so out of his hide before it ended. Ifthere was ever a fight, Willis Waite was sure to get his share. He couldswear some then, but he's improved since, and I reckon now he couldlikely claim the championship."
"Did--did you know my mother also?" and Christie leaned forward, hereyes suddenly grown misty. "I haven't even the slightest memory of her."
The doctor's heart was tender, and he was swift to respond, reachingforth and grasping the hand nearest him. He had made love before, yetsomehow this was different; he felt half afraid of this woman, and itwas a new sensation altogether, and not unpleasant.
"I saw her often enough in those days, but not since. She was frequentlyin camp, a very sweet-faced woman; you have her eyes and hair, as Iremember. Waite ought to have recognized you at first sight. By Heavens!that was what made me so internally mad, the mulish obstinacy of theold fool. Your mother used to come to the hospital tent, too; one of thebest nurses I ever saw. I thought she was a beauty then, but she's someolder by this time," he paused regretfully. "You see, I'm no springchicken, myself."
Her eyes were upon his face, a slight flush showing in either cheek, andshe made no effort to withdraw her imprisoned hand.
"You are just a nice age," with firm conviction. "Boys are tiresome,and I think a little gray in the hair is an improvement. Oh, youmustn't imagine I say this just to please you--I have always thought so,since--well, since I grew up. Besides, fleshy men generally look young,because they are so good natured, perhaps. How old are you, Doctor?"
"It isn't the gray hairs I mind, either," he admitted hesitatingly,"but I'm too darned bald-headed. Oh, I ain't so old, for I was onlythirty-five when the war broke out. I was so thin then I could hardlycast a shadow. I've changed some since," casting his eyes admiringlydownward, "and got quite a figure. I was forty-three last month."
"That isn't old; that's just right."
"I've been afraid you looked on me as being an old fogy!"
"I should say not," indignantly. "Why should you ever think that?"
"Well, there were so many young fellows hanging about."
"Who?"
"Oh, Keith, and Hawley, and that bunch of officers from the fort; younever had any time to give me."
She laughed again, her fingers tightening in their clasp on his hand.
"Why, how foolish; Hawley is older than you are, and I was only playingwith Keith. Surely you must know that now. And as to the officers, theywere just fun. You see, in my profession, one has to be awfully nice toeverybody."
"But didn't you really care for Hawley?" he insisted, bluntly probingfor facts.
"He--he interested me," admitted the girl, hesitatingly, her eyesdarkening with sudden anger. "He lied and I believed him--I would havebelieved any one who came with such a story. Oh, Dr. Fairbain," and sheclung to him now eagerly, "you cannot realize how hungry I have beenfor what he brought me. I wanted so to know the truth of my birth. Oh,I hated this life!" She flung her disengaged hand into the air, with agesture expressive of disgust. "I was crazy to get away from it. Thatwas what made the man look good to me--he--he promised so much. Youwill believe me, won't you? Oh, you must; I am going to make you. I am asinger in music halls; I was brought up to that life from a littlegirl, and of course, I know what you Western men think of us as a class.Hawley showed it in his whole manner toward me, and I resented it; justfor that, deep down in my heart, I hated him. I know it now, now thatI really understand his purpose; but some way, when I was with him heseemed to fascinate me, to make me do just as he willed. But youhave never been that way; you--you have acted as though I wassomebody--somebody nice, and not just a music-hall singer. Perhaps it'sjust your way, and maybe, deep down you don't think I'm any better thanthe others do, but--but I want you to think I am, and I am going to tellyou the truth, and you must believe me--I am a good girl."
"Great God! of course you are," he blurted out. "Don't you suppose Iknow? That isn't what has been bothering me, lassie. Why, I'd 'a' foughtany buck who'd 'a' sneered at you. What I wanted to know was, whetheror not you really cared for any of those duffers. Can you tell me that,Christie?"
She lifted her eyes to his face, her lips parted.
"I can answer any thing you ask."
"And you do not care for them?"
"No."
He drew his breath sharply, his round face rosy.
"Then you have got to listen to me, for I'm deadly in earnest. I'm anold, rough, bald-headed fool that don't know much about women,--I neverthought before I'd ever want to,--but you can bet on one t
hing, I'msquare. Anybody in this town will tell you I'm square. They'll tell youthat whatever I say goes. I've never run around much with women; somehowI never exactly liked the kind I've come up against, and maybe theydidn't feel any particular interest in me. I didn't cut much shine as aladies' man, but, I reckon now, it's only because the right one hadn'thappened along. She is here now, though, all right, and I knew it thevery first time I set eyes on her. Oh, you roped and tied me all rightthe first throw. Maybe I did get you and that half-sister mixed up abit, but just the same you were the one I really wanted. Hope's allright; she's a mighty fine girl, but you are the one for me, Christie.Could you--could you care for such a duffer as I am?"
Her lips were smiling and so were her eyes, but it was a pleading smile.
"I--I don't think it would be so very hard," she admitted, "not if youreally wanted me to."
"You know what I mean--that I love you,--wish you to be my wife?"
"I supposed that was it--that--that you wanted me."
"Yes, and--and you will love me?"
Her head drooped slowly, so slowly he did not realize the significanceof the action, until her lips touched his hand.
"I do," she said; "you are the best man in the world."
Fairbain could not move, could not seem to realize what it all meant.The outcome had been so sudden, so surprising, that all power ofexpression deserted him. In bewilderment he lifted her face, and lookedinto her eyes. Perhaps she realized--with the swift intuition of aclever woman--the man's perplexity, for instantly she led his mind toother things.
"But let us not talk of ourselves any more, to-night. There is so muchI wish to know; so much that ought to be done." She sprang to her feet."Why, it is almost shameful for us to stay here, selfishly happy, whileothers are in such trouble. Have they discovered Hope?"
"No; we scoured the whole town and found no trace. Now they are outsideon the prairie, but there can be little chance of their picking up atrail before daylight."
"And Hawley?"
"He has vanished also; without doubt they are together. What do yousuppose he can want of her? How do you imagine he ever got her to gowith him? She isn't that sort of a girl."
She shook her head, shivering a little.
"He must have mistaken her for me--perhaps has not even yet discoveredhis mistake. But what it all means, or how he gained her consent to gowith him, I cannot conceive."
She stood with hands clasped, staring out the window.
"There is a little light showing already," she exclaimed, pointing."See, yonder. Oh, I trust they will find her alive, and unhurt. Thatman, I believe, is capable of any crime. But couldn't you be of somehelp? Why should you remain here with me? I am in no danger."
"You really wish me to go, Christie?"
"Not that way--not that way," and she turned impulsively, with handsoutstretched. "Of course I want you here with me, but I want you to helpbring Hope back."
He drew her to him, supremely happy now, every feeling of embarrassmentlost in complete certainty of possession.
"And I will," he said solemnly. "Wherever they may have gone I shallfollow. I am going now, dear, and when I come back you'll be glad to seeme?"
"Shall I?" her eyes uplifted to his own, and swimming in tears. "I willbe the happiest girl in all the world, I reckon. Oh, what a night thishas been! What a wonderful night! It has given me a name, a mother, andthe man I love."
He kissed her, not in passion, but in simple tenderness, and as heturned away she sank upon her knees at the window, with head bowed uponthe sill. At the door he paused, and looked back, and she turned, andsmiled at him. Then he went out, and she knelt there silently, gazingforth into the dawn, her eyes blurred with tears--facing a new day, anda new life.
Chapter XXXIII. Following the Trail