Taylor listened intently, with the hope of hearing more of the conversation being carried on between the two men in front of him. But he heard no more on the subject broached by Carrington. Later, however, his eyes still closed, still pretending to be asleep, he saw through veiled eyelids the girl rise from her seat and come toward the two men in front of him. For the first time he got a clear, full view of her face and a deep, disturbing emotion thrilled him. For now, looking fairly at her, he was more than ever convinced that he had seen her before, or that her resemblance to someone he had known was more startling than he had thought. Then he heard Carrington speak to her. “Getting tired, Miss Harlan?” said Carrington. “Well, it will soon be ended, now. One more night on the train—and then Dawes.” The older man laughed, and touched the girl’s arm playfully. “You don’t mind it, do you, Marion?” The older man said more, but Taylor did not hear him. For at his mention of the girl’s given name, so soon after Carrington’s pronouncement of “Harlan,” Taylor’s eyes popped open, and he sat erect, staring straight at the girl. Whether her gaze had been drawn by his, or whether her woman’s curiosity had moved her to look at him, Taylor never knew. But she met his wide gaze fairly, and returned his stare with one equally wide. Only, he was certain, there was a glint of mocking accusation in her eyes—to remind him, he supposed, that she had caught him eavesdropping. And then she smiled, looking at Carrington. “One is recompensed for the inconveniences of travel by the interesting characters one chances to meet.” And she found opportunity, with Carrington looking full at her, to throw a swift, significant glance at Taylor. Taylor flushed scarlet. Not, however, because of any embarrassment he felt over her words, but because at that instant was borne overwhelmingly upon him the knowledge that the girl, and the man, Carrington, who accompanied her—even the older man—were persons with whom Fate had insisted that he play—or fight. They were to choose. And that they had chosen to fight was apparent by the girl’s glance, and by Carrington’s words, “We’ll own Dawes before we get through.” Taylor got up and went to the smoking-room, where he sat for a long time, staring out of the window, his eyes on the vast sea of sagebrush that stretched before him, his mental vision fixed on an earlier day and upon a tragedy that was linked with the three persons in the coach—who seemed desirous of antagonizing him. CHAPTER II—SLICK DUDS After a time Taylor’s lips wreathed into a smile. He searched in his pockets—he had transferred all his effects from the clothing in the suitcase to his present uncomfortable raiment—and produced a long, faded envelope in danger of imminent disintegration. The smile faded from his lips as he drew out the contents of the envelope, and a certain grim pity filled his eyes. He read: Squint: