Before he left the Mission Room, to return to his hut to see that his preparations were complete for Elia to take up his abode with him for the next fortnight––he had finally obtained Eve’s consent to this arrangement––he scanned the faces of the assembled crowd closely. He had seen nothing of Jim Thorpe during the last two months, except on the rare occasions when the foreman 130 of the “AZ’s” had visited the saloon. And at these times neither had mentioned Eve’s wedding. Now he was anxious to find out if Jim had been amongst the spectators at the wedding, a matter which to his mind was of some importance. It was impossible to ascertain from where he stood, and finally he made his way to the bottom of the hall where the door had been opened and people were beginning to move out. As he reached the back row benches he bumped into the burly Gay.
“Seen Thorpe?” he inquired quickly.
Gay pointed through the door.
“Yonder,” he said. “Say, let’s get a drink. This dogone marryin’ racket’s calc’lated to set a camel dry.”
But Peter wanted Thorpe and refused the man’s invitation. He was glad Jim had come in for the wedding, and hurried out in pursuit. He caught his man in the act of mounting his broncho.
“Say, Jim!” he exclaimed, as he hastened up.
Nor did he continue as the ranchman turned and faced him. He had never seen quite such an expression on Jim’s face before. The dark eyes were fiercely alight, the clean-cut brows were drawn together in an expression that might have indicated either pain or rage. His jaws were hard set. And the pallor of his skin was plainly visible through the rich tanning of his face.
“Well?”
The monosyllable was jerked out through clenched teeth, and had something of defiance in it. Peter fumbled.
“I’m glad you came in,” he said, a little helplessly.