For a moment Scudder looked into her eyes as though reading what lay behind her eagerness, her compassionate words. Beneath his beard, his lips tightened.
"Yes," he said. "I'm sorry to say that's quite true, Miss Lee. Of course, this Murray may not be the same man. I'm delighted by your father's improvement; I think this country is going to do wonders for him! If you'll excuse me, I'll get him a little opium now. It'll help him greatly and put him in shape to go over things with the contractor tonight."
He left for his own room, which was across the hall. When the door had closed behind him, Claire Lee stood motionless, both hands at her breast. In her eyes was a numbed, wondering look, the look of one who was inwardly fluttering with fear of the unknown and the intangible. Then, as Tom Lee called her, the look vanished and she turned to the other room.
Tom Lee looked up at her, then held out his hand. She took it, silently, and his strong fingers closed upon hers in a mutely significant gesture. It was an endearment, that quiet touching of the hands, but it was more than an endearment. From the massive personality of the man there went out to the girl a quiet force, a compellant for poise; a reassurance of strength and faith and love unassailable.
"You are not glad he has come?" asked Tom Lee, watching her eyes.
"No," she answered simply. "I do not believe in him!" A wistful smile came to her lips, as she touched his coarse black hair with caressing fingers.
"My dear," said Tom Lee gravely, "he has done great things for me; his treatment is helping me tremendously. He is efficient, that man!"
Claire said no more. She turned away and opened a box that lay upon the table. From it she took a lamp, filled the bowl with peanut oil—which is odorless—and lighted it. She laid out a bamboo opium pipe, a needle, a set of the simple, but ingenious scales, and then turned again as Doctor Scudder knocked and entered the room.
Late that afternoon, two other men drifted into Two Palms. One came from the north, and this was Deadoak Stevens. He tramped disconsolately into the hotel and sought out Piute Tomkins, with whom he was closeted for some time. The two men emerged from their talk with an air of hopelessness; Piute had chewed at his ragged mustache until it had become a wisp.
The other arrival was the Meteorite contractor, by name Patrick Hennesy. He greeted Piute jovially; a brawny, red-faced man, and registered for the night. Then he inquired for Doctor Scudder, and was directed to the latter's room. As he turned from the register, he was frowning.