"That gal looks half like she was scared, hoss," he reflected. "I wonder, now, if she got me wrong. Dang it! Maybe she thought I was trying to flirt with her. Well, maybe I was." He thrust a hand in a pocket and fingered the two objects he had picked up in the road at the scene of the holdup. Then he pulled his hat a bit forward over his eyes and increased his pace. The town, as he had half expected, came suddenly into sight around a sharp bend in the road. High Point consisted of some two-score structures, and only a cursory glance was needed to ascertain that it was the source of supplies and rendez-vous for entertainment of the several mines and all the miners and prospectors in the neighboring hills. Several fairly good roads and many trails led into it, and from it there was a main road of travel to the railroad on the edge of the desert in the east. Before he entered the dusty, single street, lined with small buildings flaunting false fronts, Rathburn recognized the signs of a foothill town where the hand of authority rested but lightly. He rode directly to the first hotel, the only two-story structure in town, and around to the rear where he put up his horse and left his saddle, chaps and slicker pack in the care of the barn man. He received instructions as to the location of the best barber shop and speedily wended his way there. He found Sunday was not observed in the barber shop, nor in the resort which adjoined it. "Any chance to get a bath here?" he asked one of the two barbers with a twinkle in his gray eyes. He expected a snort of astonishment and a sarcastic reply. "Sure. Want it first or after?" Rathburn eyed the barber suspiciously. Was the man poking fun at him? Well, he was not a stranger to repartee. "First or after what?" he asked, scowling. "Your shave and hair cut." Rathburn laughed. "I'll take it first--if you have it. An' if you have, I'll say this is a first-class barber shop." The barber led the way to a room in the rear of the place with a pleased grin. An hour or so later Rathburn, with the lower part of his face a shade paler than the upper half, his dark hair showing neatly under his broad-brimmed hat, his black riding boots glistening, and a satisfied smile on his face, sauntered out of the barber shop into the resort next door. A man was lighting the hanging lamps, and Rathburn looked about through a haze of tobacco smoke at a cluster of crowded gaming tables, a short bar, cigar counter, and at the motley throng which jammed the small room. He grinned as he read the sign over the cash register: FREE DRINKS TO-MORROW "Swiped in broad daylight from the grand old State of Texas," he murmured aloud to himself. Then he noticed a small restaurant in the rear of the place, separated from the main room by a partition, the upper part of which was glass.