“Where what, my friend?”
“Where did you take him?”
Larry laughed in slow deep enjoyment. “I hate to disappoint you, but if I told that would be telling. No, I reckon I won't table my cards yet a while. If you're playing in this game of Hi-Spy go to it and hunt.”
“Perhaps you don't know that I am T. J. Dunke.”
“You don't say! And I'm General Grant. This lady hyer is Florence Nightingale or Martha Washington, I disremember which.”
Miss Kinney laughed. “Whichever she is she's very very tired,” she said. “I think I'll accept your offer to see me to the hotel, Mr. Neill.”
She nodded a careless good night to the mine-owner, and touched the horse with her heel. At the porch of the rather primitive hotel she descended stiffly from the saddle.
Before she left the Southerner—or the Westerner, for sometimes she classified him as one, sometimes as the other—she asked him one hesitant question.
“Were you thinking of going out again tonight?”
“I did think of taking a turn out to see if I could find Fraser. Anything I can do for you?”