Taking Fairbain with him, and hastily reviewing late occurrences to him, Keith crossed over to the corral, realizing that their work--his work--was not wholly done until Hawley had been located. With this quest in mind he strode straight to the black-bearded giant who had guarded Hope from Sheridan.
“Well, Hatchett, I am going to ask you a question or two, and advise you to reply just about as straight as you know how. I am in no mood to-night for any foolishness. Where is 'Black Bart' Hawley?”
“You do know, just the same. Perhaps not to an inch, or a mile, but you know near enough where he is, and where he has been since you left Sheridan.”
“No? Well now, Hatchett, listen to me,” and Keith's voice had in it the click of a steel trap. “You'll either answer, and answer straight, or we'll hang you to that cottonwood in about five minutes. If you want a chance for your miserable life you answer me. We have our way of treating your kind out in this country. Sit up, you brute! Now where did Hawley go after he left you?”
“He didn't bring them to you; I know that. Where has he been since?”
“He writ me a note the boss herder brought.”
Keith took the dirty slip of paper the man reluctantly extracted from his belt, and Fairbain lit matches while he ran his eyes hastily over the lines. As he ended he crushed the paper between his fingers, and walked away to the end of the corral. He wanted to be alone, to think, to decide definitely upon what he ought to do. Hawley, according to the schedule just read, must have left Larned alone early the day before; this night he would be camped at the water-hole; with daybreak he expected to resume his lonely journey across the desert to the Salt Fork. For years Keith had lived a primitive life, and in some ways his thought had grown primitive. His code of honor was that of the border, tinged by that of the South before the war. The antagonism existing between him and this gambler was personal, private, deadly--not an affair for any others--outsiders--to meddle with. He could wait here, and permit Hawley to be made captive; could watch him ride unsuspectingly into the power of these armed men, and then turn him over to the law to be dealt with. The very thought nauseated him. That would be a coward's act, leaving a stain never to be eradicated. No, he must meet this as became a man, and now, now before Hope so much as dreamed of his purpose--aye, and before he spoke another word of love to Hope. He wheeled about fully decided on his course, his duty, and met Fairbain face to face.