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Updated: May 8, 2025
He'd clean out this house if we ran in a cold deck on a friend o' his." "What do I care for what your marshal does?" "But he's Bill Hickock, Miss, 'Wild Bill." Miss Maclaire leaned back against the stair-rail, her eyes turning from Tommy to her speechless supporters. Slowly the truth seemed to penetrate her brain. "Oh," she gasped at last. "Then then what else can you give me?"
The two older men still faced one another belligerently, but Keith saw Christie draw the doctor back from between her and the sheriff. "You may ask me anything you please," she announced, quietly. "I am sure these gentlemen will not fight here in my room." "Very well, Miss Maclaire. It will require only a moment. How long have you known this man Hawley?"
Suddenly a vague remembrance brought recognition. "Why, I know you now." "Indeed!" the single word a note of undisguised surprise. "Yes; I thought you looked oddly familiar all the time, but couldn't for the life of me connect up. You're Christie Maclaire." "Am I?" her eyes filled with curiosity. "Of course you are.
She glanced up, a slight frown wrinkling her forehead, and he bowed, recognizing Christie Maclaire. The opportunity thus so unexpectedly afforded was not one to be wasted, and Keith accepted it with swift determination. The expression in the woman's face was scarcely one of welcome, yet his purpose was sufficiently serious to cause him to ignore this with easy confidence in himself.
"I assure you no she is strictly Miss Maclaire, and," solemnly, "shall be to the end of the chapter." "Oh, well, I didn't care, only that was what you called her when you were telling me what she said. Are you going?" "Yes, to find Fred; the sooner we can get this straightened out, the better."
"You may call me Hope." "A name certainly of good omen," he returned. "From this moment I shall forget Christie Maclaire, and remember only Miss Hope. All right, Neb; now turn over a chair, and sit your man up against it. He will rest all the easier in that position until his gang arrive." He thrust his head out of the door, peering cautiously forth into the night, and listening.
"Fire away," he said shortly, "until I see what the game is about." Cooly, yet without in the least comprehending how best to proceed, Keith drew toward him the only chair in the room, and sat down. Miss Hope more widely known as Christie Maclaire had claimed this drunken lad as her brother, but, according to Hawley, he had vehemently denied any such relationship.
Of late years he had been unaccustomed to association with women of high type, and there was that touch of the gentlewoman about this girl which had awakened deep interest. Of course he knew that in her case it was merely an inheritance of her past, and could not truly represent the present Christie Maclaire of the music halls.
Hawley certainly had them in his possession the day before, for he had taken them to Miss Maclaire to thus convince her as to the truth of his statements. And Hawley was still in Sheridan. However, it was not likely the man would risk carrying documents of such value, and documents connecting him so closely with that murder on the Santa Fé Trail, about upon his person.
"Miss Maclaire," he said, pleasantly, "I trust you will pardon all that has occurred between us, and permit me to explain." "I I do not understand," she replied, puzzled by these unexpected words. "There has nothing occurred between us, I am sure, which requires explanation. Have we met before?" The man smiled.
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