Duane sat down on the steps of the dingy little restaurant. Two men were conversing inside, and they had not noticed Duane. “Laramie, what's the stranger's name?” asked one. “He didn't say,” replied the other. “Sure was a strappin' big man. Struck me a little odd, he did. No cattleman, him. How'd you size him?” “Well, like one of them cool, easy, quiet Texans who's been lookin' for a man for years--to kill him when he found him.” “Right you are, Laramie; and, between you an' me, I hope he's lookin' for Long--” “'S--sh!” interrupted Laramie. “You must be half drunk, to go talkie' that way.” Thereafter they conversed in too low a tone for Duane to hear, and presently Laramie's visitor left. Duane went inside, and, making himself agreeable, began to ask casual questions about Fairdale. Laramie was not communicative. Duane went to his room in a thoughtful frame of mind. Had Laramie's visitor meant he hoped some one had come to kill Longstreth? Duane inferred just that from the interrupted remark. There was something wrong about the Mayor of Fairdale. Duane felt it. And he felt also, if there was a crooked and dangerous man, it was this Floyd Lawson. The innkeeper Laramie would be worth cultivating. And last in Duane's thoughts that night was Miss Longstreth. He could not help thinking of her--how strangely the meeting with her had affected him. It made him remember that long-past time when girls had been a part of his life. What a sad and dark and endless void lay between that past and the present! He had no right even to dream of a beautiful woman like Ray Longstreth. That conviction, however, did not dispel her; indeed, it seemed perversely to make her grow more fascinating. Duane grew conscious of a strange, unaccountable hunger, a something that was like a pang in his breast. Next day he lounged about the inn. He did not make any overtures to the taciturn proprietor. Duane had no need of hurry now. He contented himself with watching and listening. And at the close of that day he decided Fairdale was what MacNelly had claimed it to be, and that he was on the track of an unusual adventure. The following day he spent in much the same way, though on one occasion he told Laramie he was looking for a man. The innkeeper grew a little less furtive and reticent after that. He would answer casual queries, and it did not take Duane long to learn that Laramie had seen better days--that he was now broken, bitter, and hard. Some one had wronged him.