“I’ve done nothing but think for months,” Rathburn confessed.
She looked at him searchingly. Then her eyes 197 dropped to the black butt of the gun in the holster strapped to his right thigh. She shuddered slightly.
“You came from the west, Roger?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied shortly. “From where there’s water an’ timber an’ flowers an’ grass––but they had my number there, just the same as they’ve got it here. I’m a marked man, Laura Mallory.”
She leaned upon the table with one hand; the other she held upon her breast.
“Are––are they––after you, Roger?” she asked in a low, anxious tone.
“As usual,” he answered with a vague laugh. “Laura, I didn’t come here to bother you with my troubles; I come here just to see you.”
The girl colored. “I know, Roger. We’ve known each other a long time––since we were children. You wouldn’t like it for me not to show any concern over your troubles, would you?”
“I wish we could talk about something else,” said Rathburn. “I can’t stay long.”
Laura Mallory looked worried. “May I ask where you plan to go, Roger?”