“You have no need to be,” he said soberly, impressed by the innocent candor of the girl, and feeling thankful that he was present to aid her. “I could not wrong one of the South.”
“My father always told me I could trust a Southern gentleman under any circumstance. Mr. Hawley was from my own State, and knew many of our old friends. That was why I felt such unusual confidence in him, although he was but a travelling acquaintance.”
“Oh, yes; you said he was in business in Carson City, but I don't seem to remember any one of that name.”
“He was not there permanently; only to complete some business deal.”
“And your brother? I may possibly have known him.”
She hesitated an instant, her eyes dropping, until completely shaded by the long lashes.
“He--he was rather a wild boy, and ran away from home to enlist in the army. But he got into a bad set, and--and deserted. That was part of the trouble which caused him to hide. He enlisted under the name of Fred Willoughby. Mr. Hawley told me this much, but I am afraid he did not tell me all.”
Keith gazed about on the bare surroundings wonderingly. What was this place, hidden away in the midst of the desert, isolated in a spot where not even Indians roamed. Could it be a secret rendezvous of crime, the headquarters of desperadoes, of cattle-rustlers, of highwaymen of the Santa Fé Trail--a point to which they could ride when hard pressed, certain of hiding here in safety? He began to suspect this, but, if so, who then was this Hawley, and with what object had he sent this girl here? Every way he turned was to confront mystery, to face a new puzzle. Whatever she might be--even the music hall singer he believed--she had been inveigled here innocently enough. Even now she possessed only the most vague suspicion that she had been deceived. The centre of the whole plot, if there was a plot, must be Hawley.
“Yes,” she replied, “he said that this was one of the stations of a big ranch on which Fred was employed, and that he would certainly be here within a day or two.”
“You met Hawley on the stage coach? How did you become acquainted?”
“We were alone for nearly fifty miles,” her voice faltering slightly, “and--and he called me what you did.”
“Yes; he--he seemed to think he knew me, and I needed help so much that I let him believe so. I thought it could do no harm, and then, when I found he actually knew Fred, I didn't think of anything else, only how fortunate I was to thus meet him. Surely something serious must have happened, or he would have been here before this. Do you--do you suppose there is anything wrong?”