Never had she felt so miserable, so helpless, so forsaken, so alone. With the thought of her nearest relative, the man who had been a father to her and provided a home for her as long as she could remember, seeking to kill him whose devotion had given her all the happiness she had ever known, and whose safety meant her only pledge of happiness for the future--her heart sank. When the big train drew slowly, almost noiselessly, in, Nan took her place where no incoming passenger could escape her gaze and waited for de Spain. Scanning eagerly the figures of the men that walked up the long platform and approached the station exit, the fear that she should not see him battled with the hope that he would still appear. But when all the arrivals had been accounted for, he had not come. She turned, heavy-hearted, to walk back uptown, trying to think of whom she might seek some information concerning de Spain's whereabouts, when her eye fell on a man standing not ten feet away at the door of the baggage-room. He was alone and seemed to be watching the changing of the engines, but Nan thought she knew him by sight. The rather long, straight, black hair under the broad-brimmed Stetson hat marked the man known and hated in the Gap as "the Indian." Here, she said to herself, was a chance. De Spain, she recalled, spoke of no one oftener than this man. He seemed wholly disengaged. Repressing her nervous timidity, Nan walked over to him. "Aren't you Mr. Scott?" she asked abruptly. Scott, turning to her, touched his hat as if quite unaware until that moment of her existence. "Did Mr. de Spain get off this train?" she asked, as Scott acknowledged his identity. "I didn't see him. I guess he didn't come to-night." Nan noticed the impassive manner of his speaking and the low, even tones. "I was kind of looking for him myself." "Is there another train to-night he could come on?" "I don't think he will be back now before to-morrow night." Nan, much disappointed, looked up the line and down. "I rode in this afternoon from Music Mountain especially to see him." Scott, without commenting, smiled with understanding and encouragement, and Nan was so filled with anxiety that she welcomed a chance to talk to somebody. "I've often heard him speak of you," she ventured, searching the dark eyes, and watching the open, kindly smile characteristic of the man. Scott put his right hand out at his side. "I've ridden with that boy since he was so high." "I know he thinks everything of you." "I think a lot of him." "You don't know me?" she said tentatively. His answer concealed all that was necessary. "Not to speak to, no." "I am Nan Morgan." "I know your name pretty well," he explained; nothing seemed to disturb his smile. "And I came in--because I was worried over something and wanted to see Mr. de Spain." "He is buying horses north of Medicine Bend. The rain-storm yesterday likely kept him back some. I don't think you need worry much over anything though."