"Maybe they got wind of Benito's presence. Maybe they're with him. Let's see."
They hurried back to the City Hotel.
"The room's dark," Spear lighted a taper and they softly opened the door. Benito slept; beside him drowsed a red-shirted miner slumped upon a chair. Adrian shook him, whispering, "Where's Doctor Jones?"
"Don't know," muttered the watcher, sleepily. "This yere is his busy night I reckon. Asked me to look after this galoot. Feed him four fingers of that pizen if he woke."
His head drooped forward and a buzzing sound came from his open mouth. Once more Adrian shook him.
"Didn't he say anything about his destination?"
"His which, pard?"
"Where he was bound," the young man said half angrily.
This time the other sat up straighter. For the first time he really awoke and took intelligent cognizance of the situation.
"Now I come to think on it, he's bound for the hill over yonder. Woman named Briones come for him at a double quick. Good lookin' Spanish wench. She took him by the arm commandin' like. 'You come along,' she says and picks up his medicine chest. 'Don't stop for yer hat.' And he didn't." He winked heavily, chuckling at the reminiscence.