“I do, if you need to know,” pleasantly enough.  “Sergeant Hamlin, Seventh Cavalry.”

“Oh!” the exclamation came from between clenched teeth.  “Hell, man, you startled me.”

“So I see; nervous disposition, I reckon.  Well, are you going quietly, or shall I hoist you over the rail?”

“I had an appointment here.”

“Can’t help that, partner.  This porch is going to be vacant inside of one minute, or there is a declaration of war.  Your easiest way out is through that window, but you can go by rail if you prefer.”

The black beard wasted half his allowed time in an effort at bluster; then, to Hamlin’s utter disgust, slunk through the open window and across the darkened parlor.

“The pusillanimous cuss,” the latter muttered, “he ’s worse than a cur dog.  Blamed if he was n’t actually afraid of me.  A gun-fighter—­pugh!” He lifted his voice, as “Reb” paused in the light of the hall beyond and glanced back, a fist doubled and uplifted.  “Oh, go on!  Sure, you ’ll get me?  You are the brave boy, now,” and Hamlin strode toward the door threateningly.  “Lope along, son, and don’t turn around again until you face the bar.”

He drew the door partially to again, and sat down facing the opening, where a stray beam of light fell across the floor.  Thus far the adventure had scarcely proven interesting.  The last encounter had been a distinct disappointment.  The dispersal of the card-players was, as anticipated, easily managed, but the reputation of “Reb” as killer and bad man had given him hope of resistance.  But instead he had proven a perfect lamb.  Hamlin crossed his legs and waited, his mind divided in wonder between what Miss McDonald might want, and the cowardice of the fellow just driven out.  The man was actually afraid—­afraid to start a row.  Yet he had got to his feet with that intention; it was only after he had looked into Hamlin’s face and asked his name, that he began to hedge and draw back.  Could he have recognized him?  Could Mrs. Dupont have warned him of danger in his direction?  That would seem impossible, for the woman had not been with him for even a minute since their conversation.  She had given him a swift signal at the door of the dance hall, but that could scarcely account for his present desire to avoid trouble.  An engagement?  Probably with Mrs. Dupont.  But what was the use of speculating?  Perhaps when the girl came she would have some light to throw on these matters.  Surely her sudden determination to see him privately must have connection with this affair.

These thoughts came swiftly, for his period of waiting proved to be but a short one.  He heard the laughter and talk as the merry-makers came into the hotel from the dance hall, crowding the passage, and thronging in to where the tables were set.  Then a rattle of dishes, and the steady shuffling of waiters rushing back and forth.  Occasionally he could distinguish a shadow out in the hall, but never changed his motionless posture, or removed his eyes from the aperture, until she slipped noiselessly through and stood there panting slightly, her hand clasping the knob of the door.  Apparently in the semi-darkness of the room she was uncertain of his presence, while her white dress touched by the outside reflection made her clearly visible.