Rathburn tried to recollect where he had seen this man Doane before. The blond face and mustache were vaguely familiar. Again he strove to place the man without result.
He shrugged his shoulders, drew out his gun, and replaced the empty shell with a fresh cartridge. He dropped the weapon back into his holster and went outside to see about his horse. The dun still was feeding. Rathburn contented himself with looking over his saddle and readjusting the small slicker pack on its rear. Then he paced the length of the barn, frowning in a thoughtful mood.
There was only one thing he was reasonably sure of; no one around the town knew that he was the outlaw known as The Coyote. He had not seen 222 anybody he knew except the sheriff, and that official was safely out of the way for the present. Gomez had mentioned his name when they had first met, but he had not been heard save by Rathburn. Therefore, if they were looking for the man who had shot down Gomez, they were merely looking for a man measuring up to his description; and Rathburn doubted if anything would be done until the authorities had been notified. Visitors to the sheriff’s office would find Long out and would assume that he had not returned from the chase in the hills. It might be another hour before the sheriff’s predicament was discovered. And in that hour–––
Rathburn caught himself up with another shrug. He was falling a prey to his former hopeless trend of thought. Resentment was swelling within him again, and he struggled to put it down. Perhaps it would be safer to yield to the inclination to take a chance on the courts.
It was after nine o’clock when he rode out of the barn. He proceeded straight toward the main street of the town. He was struggling with a half-formed resolve; summoning courage by shutting out all recollections save that of Laura Mallory’s apparently earnest remark about the compass.
Reaching the main street, he started to turn the corner at the bank building when he suddenly checked his horse and stared at two people walking up the opposite side of the street. Rathburn recognized the girl immediately. She was Laura Mallory. A moment later he caught a glimpse of the man’s face, as he half turned toward Rathburn, laughing. He had taken Laura’s arm. It was Doane!
The realization that Laura had come to town and was in the company of Doane stunned Rathburn. More than anything else it had the effect of convincing him that Gomez had been right when 223 he had hinted that Doane was successful in love. Hadn’t she told him to take his gun when Eagen had been waiting for him? Had she thought, perhaps, that there would be gun play, and that Eagen might emerge the victor, thus assuring her that he, Rathburn, would bother her no more?
Rathburn’s eyes narrowed, and his face froze, as he watched Laura and Doane out of sight up the street. He knew now why he had had to come back. There was nothing left––nothing but his dreams, his sinister reputation, and his gun!
He looked about in a different way from that in which he had first surveyed the street, now showing life. His gaze encountered the bank building. The door was open. The bank doubtless opened at nine o’clock. He remembered that this was so. A second of indecision, then he moved in front of the bank. He dismounted, flung the reins over the dun’s head, and entered briskly.
Two men were behind the screens of the two cages. Rathburn approached a window and nodded to the man behind it. Then his gun leaped into his hand, and he covered the pair.