Then, out of the silence from somewhere not far off, came a flat, dead crash, the report of a firearm. The woman was acutely conscious that the voices in the station had broken short with an abruptness which alarmed her. The other sound--the shot--had touched fear in her, too, and the knowledge that it had nipped the attention of the talking men sent a cool thrill down her limbs. A man emerged from the depot and his voice broke in, "Wonder where that--" He stopped short and the woman divined the reason. She strained to catch the thrum of running hoofs, knowing intuitively that the man, also, had ceased speaking to listen. She was conscious that she trembled. Another man stepped into the open and spoke, hurriedly, but so low that Ann could not hear; the first replied in the same manner, giving a sense of stealth, of furtiveness that seemed to the woman portentous. She took a step forward, frightened at she knew not what, wanting to run to the men just because she was afraid and they were human beings. She checked herself, though, and forced reason. This was nonsense! She laid it on her nerves. They were ragged after the suspense and the long journey, the dread and hopes. A shot, a galloping horse, a suspected anxiety in the talk of the two men had combined to play upon them in their overwrought condition. Then, the first speaker's voice again, in normal tone, "Trunk here, but I didn't see anybody get off." Ann wanted to laugh with relief. Just that one sentence linked her up with everyday life again, took the shake from her knees and the accented leap from her heart. She was impelled to run to him, and held herself to a walk by effort. "I beg your pardon. Can you tell me the name of the best hotel?" she asked. The man who had seized the trunk stopped rolling it toward the doorway and turned quickly to look at the woman who stood there in the pallid glow from the one oil lamp. He saw a blue straw toque fitting tightly over a compact mass of black hair; he saw blue eyes, earnest and troubled; red lips, with the fullness of youth; flushed cheeks, a trim, small body clothed in a close fitting, dark suit. "Yes, ma'am; it's th' Manzanita House. It's th' two-story buildin' up th' street. Is this your trunk?" "Yes. May I leave it here until morning?" The man nodded. "Sure," he answered. "Thank you. Is there a carriage here?" He set the trunk on end, wiped his palms on his hips and smiled slightly. "No, ma'am. Yavapai ain't quite up to hacks an' things yet. We're young. You can walk it in two minutes." Ann hesitated. "It's ... all right, is it?" He did not comprehend. "For me to walk, I mean. Just now.... It sounded as if some one shot, I thought." He laughed. "Oh, Yavapai's a safe place! Somebody just shot at somethin', I guess. But it's all right. We ain't got no hacks, but we don't have no killin's either." "I'm glad of the one anyhow," Ann smiled, and started away from him not, however, wholly reassured.