Timber City, since abandoned to the bats and the coyotes, but then in her glory, consisted of two stores, five saloons, a half-dozen less reputable places of entertainment, a steepleless board church, a schoolhouse, also of boards, a hotel, a post office, a feed stable, fifty or more board shacks of miners, and a few flimsy buildings at the mouths of shafts. It was nearly noon when the three drew up before the hotel.
"Will you dine with us in an hour?" asked Endicott.
The Texan nodded. "Thanks," he said, formally, "I'll be here." And as the two disappeared through the door, he gathered up the reins, crossed to the feed barn where he turned the animals over to the proprietor, and passing on to the rear, proceeded to take a bath in the watering trough.
Punctually on the minute he entered the hotel. The meal was a solemn affair, almost as silent as the ride from the river. Several attempts at conversation fell flat, and the effort was abandoned. At no time, however, did the Texan appear embarrassed, and Alice noted that he handled his knife and fork with the ease of early training.
At the conclusion he arose, abruptly: "I thank you. Will you excuse me, now?"
Alice nodded, and both watched as he crossed the room, his spurs trailing noisily upon the wooden floor.
"Poor devil," said Endicott, "this has hit him pretty hard."
The girl swallowed the rising lump in her throat: "Oh, why can't he meet some nice girl, and——"
"Women—his kind—are mighty scarce out here, I imagine."
The girl placed her elbows upon the table, rested her chin upon her knuckles, and glanced eagerly into Endicott's face: