“Hum—thought you'd be through by this time—fine looking girl, ain't she?—believe I'll run in and chat with her myself.”
“I would advise you to select some other time, Doctor,” said the younger, drily, “as the lady has a visitor at present.”
“A visitor?” his face rosy, his shrewd eyes darkening. “Ah, indeed! Of the male sex?”
“I judge so—'Black Bart' Hawley.”
“Good Lord!” so startled his voice broke. “Did he see you?”
“Rather; I backed him up against the wall with a gun while I made my adieu.”
“But what brought him there? Are they acquainted?”
“Don't ask conundrums, Doctor. He may be your rival with the fair lady for all I know. If he is, my sympathies are all with you. Only I wouldn't try to see Miss Christie just now; I'd wait for a clearer field. Hawley is probably not in the best of humor.”
Fairbain stared into the face of the speaker, uncertain whether or not he was being laughed at.
“Reckon you're right,” he acknowledged at last. “Tired, anyhow—been out all night—thought I'd like to see her again, though—finest looking woman I've met since I came West—remarkable eyes—well, I'll go along to bed—see you again to-morrow, Jack.”