Ann walked slowly from the dining room into the office to leave instructions about her trunk, but the room was empty and she went back to the door which stood open and looked out into the street. From across the way the mechanical piano continued its racket, and an occasional voice was lifted in song or laughter. She thought again of the shot, the running horse. She watched the shadowy figures passing to and fro behind the glazed windows of the saloon and between her brows came a frown. She drew a deep breath, held it a long instant, then let it slip quickly out, ending in a little catch of a cough. She closed one hand and let it fall into the other palm. "To-morrow at this time, I may know," she muttered. She would have turned away and climbed the stairs, then, but on her last glance into the street a moving blotch attracted her attention. She looked at it again, closer; it was approaching the hotel and, after a moment she discerned the outlines of a man walking, leading a horse. A peculiar quality about his movements, an undistinguished part of the picture, held her in the doorway an instant longer. Then, she saw that the man was carrying the limp figure of another and that he was coming directly toward her, striding into the circle of feeble light cast from the lamp on the post, growing more and more distinct with each step. A thrill ran through the woman, making her shudder as she drew back; the arms and legs of the figure that was being borne toward her swung so helplessly, as though they were boneless; the head, too, swayed from side to side. Yet these appearances, suggestive as they were of tragedy, did not form the influence which caused Ann's throat to tighten and her pulse to speed. She heard voices and footsteps as other men ran up. She drew back into the shadows of the hall. "What you got, Bruce?" one asked, in a tone of concern. "O, a small parcel of man meat," she heard the tall one explain casually, with something like amusement in his voice. "Who is it?" An answer was made, but the woman could not understand. "Oh, _him_!" Disdain was in the voice, as though there were no longer cause for apprehension, as if the potential consequence of the situation had been dissipated by identification of the unconscious figure. Other arrivals, fresh voices; out under the light a dozen men were clustered about the tall fellow and his burden. "Where'd you find him?" one asked. "Out at th' edge of town--in th' ditch. Abe, here,"--with a jerk of his head to indicate the sleek sorrel horse he led--"found him. He acted so damned funny he made me get off to see what it was, an', sure enough, here was Yavapai's most enthusiastic drinker, sleepin' in th' ditch! "Here, let me put him down on th' porch, there,"--elbowing his way through the knot about him. "He ain't much more man in pounds than he is in principle, but he weighs up considerable after packin' him all this way."