He went out of the barroom, put the gelding away in
the stables behind the hotel, and got a room.
In ten minutes, pausing only to tear the boots from
his feet, he was sound asleep under the very gates
of freedom.
And while he slept the gates were closing and barring
the way. If he had wakened even an hour sooner,
all would have been well and, though he might have
dusted the skirts of danger, they could never have
blocked his way. But, with seven days of exhausting
travel behind him, he slept like one drugged, the
clock around and more. It was morning, mid-morning,
when he wakened.
Even then he was too late, but he wasted priceless
minutes eating his breakfast, for it was delightful
beyond words to have food served to him which he had
not cooked with his own hands. And so, sauntering
out onto the veranda of the hotel, he saw a compact
crowd on the other side of the square and the crowd
focused on a man who was tacking up a sign. Andrew,
still sauntering, joined the crowd, and looking over
their heads, he found his own face staring back at
him; and, under the picture of that lean, serious
face, in huge black type, five thousand dollars reward
for the capture, dead or alive—
The rest of the notice blurred before his eyes.
Some one was speaking. “You made a quick
trip, Mr. Dozier, and I expect if you send word up
to Hallowell in the mountains they can—”
So Hal Dozier had brought the notices himself.
Andrew, in that moment, became perfectly calm.
He went back to the hotel, and, resting one elbow
on the desk, he looked calmly into the face of the
clerk and the proprietor. Instantly he saw that
the men did not suspect—as yet.
“I hear Mr. Dozier’s here?” he asked.
“Room seventeen,” said the clerk.
“Hold on. He’s out in the square now.”
“’S all right. I’ll wait in
his room.” He went to room seventeen.
The door was unlocked. And drawing a chair into
the farthest corner, Andrew sat down, rolled a cigarette,
drew his revolver, and waited.
He waited an eternity; in actual time it was exactly
ten minutes. Then a cavalcade tramped down the
hall. He heard their voices, and Hal Dozier was
among them. About him flowed a babble of questions
as the men struggled for the honor of a word from
the great man. Perhaps he was coming to his room
to form the posse and issue general instructions for
the chase.
The door opened. Dozier entered, jerked his head
squarely to one side, and found himself gazing into
the muzzle of a revolver. The astonishment and
the swift hardening of his face had begun and ended
in a fraction of a second.
“It’s you, eh?” he said, still holding
the door.
“Right,” said Andrew. “I’m
here for a little chat about this Lanning you’re
after.”
