"Miss Sampson, I must tell you first," I began, and hesitated--"that I'm
not a cowboy. My wild stunts, my drinking and gaming--these were all
pretense."
"Indeed! I am very glad to hear it. And was Sally in your confidence?"
"Only lately. I am a United States deputy marshal in the service of
Steele."
She gave a slight start, but did not raise her head.
"I have deceived you. But, all the same, I've been your friend. I ask
you to respect my secret a little while. I'm telling you because
otherwise my relation to Steele yesterday would not be plain. Now, if
you and Sally will use this blanket, make yourselves more comfortable
seats, I'll begin my story."
Miss Sampson allowed me to arrange a place for her where she could rest
at ease, but Sally returned to my side and stayed there. She was an
enigma to-day--pale, brooding, silent--and she never looked at me except
when my face was half averted.
"Well," I began, "night before last Steele and I lay hidden among the
rocks near the edge of town, and we listened to and watched the
destruction of Steele's house. It had served his purpose to leave lights
burning, to have shadows blow across the window-blinds, and to have a
dummy in his bed.
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