Dr. Fairbain had originally joined the searching party, fully as eager as Keith himself to run down the renegade Hawley, but after an hour of resultless effort, his entire thought shifted to the woman they had left alone at the hotel. He could not, as yet, fully grasp the situation, but he remained loyal to the one overpowering truth that he loved Christie Maclaire. Fairbain's nature was rough, original, yet loyal to the core. He had lived all his life long in army camps, and upon the frontier, and his code of honor was extremely simple. It never once occurred to him that Christie's profession was not of the highest, or that her life and associations in any way unfitted her for the future. To his mind she was the one and only woman. His last memory of her, as the little party of men filed out of that room, haunted him until he finally dropped out of the search, and drifted back toward the hotel.

It was a late hour, yet it was hardly likely the woman had retired. Her excitement, her interest in the pursuit, would surely prevent that; moreover, he was certain he saw a light still burning in her room, as he looked up from the black street below. Nevertheless he hesitated, uncertain of his reception. Bluff, emphatic, never afraid to face a man in his life, his heart now beat fiercely as he endeavored to muster the necessary courage. Far down the dark street some roysterer fired a shot, and sudden fear lest he might be sought after professionally sent the doctor hurriedly within, and up the stairs. He stood, just outside her door, quaking like a child, the perspiration beading his forehead, but a light streamed through the transom, and he could plainly hear movements within. At last, in a sudden spasm of courage, he knocked softly. Even in that noisy spot she heard instantly, opening the door without hesitation, and standing fully dressed within. She was no longer a discouraged, sobbing girl, but an aroused, intent woman, into whose pathetic, lonely life there had come a new hope. She appeared younger, fairer, with the light shimmering in her hair and her eyes smiling welcome.

“Oh, Doctor,” and her hands were thrust out towards him, “I am glad you have come. Somehow, I thought you would, and I have wanted so to talk to someone—to you.”

“To me! Do you really mean that, Miss Christie?”

“Yes, I really mean that, you great bear of a man,” and the girl laughed lightly, dragging him into the room, and closing the door. “Why, who else could I expect to come to-night? You were the only one really good to me. You—you acted as if you believed in me all the time—”

“I did, Christie; you bet I did,” broke in the delighted doctor, every nerve tingling. “I'd 'a' cleaned out that whole gang if you'd only said so, but I reckon now it was better to let them tell all they knew. It was like a thunder storm clearing the atmosphere.”

“Oh, it was, indeed! Now I know who I am—who I am! Isn't that simply glorious? Sit down, Doctor Fairbain, there in the big chair where I can see your face. I want to talk, talk, talk; I want to ask questions, a thousand questions; but it wouldn't do any good to ask them of you, would it? You don't know anything about my family, do you?”

“Not very much, I am afraid, only that you have got an almighty pretty half-sister,” admitted the man, emphatically, “and old Waite possesses the vilest temper ever given a human being. He's no blood kin to you, though.”

“No, but he is awfully good underneath, isn't he?”

“Got a heart of pure gold, old Waite. Why, I've seen him cry like a baby over one of his men that got hurt.”

“Have you known him, then, for a long while?”

“Ever since the Spring of '61. I was brigaded with him all through the war, and had to cut a bullet or so out of his hide before it ended. If there was ever a fight, Willis Waite was sure to get his share. He could swear some then, but he's improved since, and I reckon now he could likely claim the championship.”

“Did—did you know my mother also?” and Christie leaned forward, her eyes suddenly grown misty. “I haven't even the slightest memory of her.”

The doctor's heart was tender, and he was swift to respond, reaching forth and grasping the hand nearest him. He had made love before, yet somehow this was different; he felt half afraid of this woman, and it was a new sensation altogether, and not unpleasant.

“I saw her often enough in those days, but not since. She was frequently in camp, a very sweet-faced woman; you have her eyes and hair, as I remember. Waite ought to have recognized you at first sight. By Heavens! that was what made me so internally mad, the mulish obstinacy of the old fool. Your mother used to come to the hospital tent, too; one of the best nurses I ever saw. I thought she was a beauty then, but she's some older by this time,” he paused regretfully. “You see, I'm no spring chicken, myself.”

Her eyes were upon his face, a slight flush showing in either cheek, and she made no effort to withdraw her imprisoned hand.

“You are just a nice age,” with firm conviction. “Boys are tiresome, and I think a little gray in the hair is an improvement. Oh, you mustn't imagine I say this just to please you—I have always thought so, since—well, since I grew up. Besides, fleshy men generally look young, because they are so good natured, perhaps. How old are you, Doctor?”

“It isn't the gray hairs I mind, either,” he admitted hesitatingly, “but I'm too darned bald-headed. Oh, I ain't so old, for I was only thirty-five when the war broke out. I was so thin then I could hardly cast a shadow. I've changed some since,” casting his eyes admiringly downward, “and got quite a figure. I was forty-three last month.”

“That isn't old; that's just right.”

“I've been afraid you looked on me as being an old fogy!”

“I should say not,” indignantly. “Why should you ever think that?”

“Well, there were so many young fellows hanging about.”

“Who?”

“Oh, Keith, and Hawley, and that bunch of officers from the fort; you never had any time to give me.”

She laughed again, her fingers tightening in their clasp on his hand.

“Why, how foolish; Hawley is older than you are, and I was only playing with Keith. Surely you must know that now. And as to the officers, they were just fun. You see, in my profession, one has to be awfully nice to everybody.”

“But didn't you really care for Hawley?” he insisted, bluntly probing for facts.

“He—he interested me,” admitted the girl, hesitatingly, her eyes darkening with sudden anger. “He lied and I believed him—I would have believed any one who came with such a story. Oh, Dr. Fairbain,” and she clung to him now eagerly, “you cannot realize how hungry I have been for what he brought me. I wanted so to know the truth of my birth. Oh, I hated this life!” She flung her disengaged hand into the air, with a gesture expressive of disgust. “I was crazy to get away from it. That was what made the man look good to me—he—he promised so much. You will believe me, won't you? Oh, you must; I am going to make you. I am a singer in music halls; I was brought up to that life from a little girl, and of course, I know what you Western men think of us as a class. Hawley showed it in his whole manner toward me, and I resented it; just for that, deep down in my heart, I hated him. I know it now, now that I really understand his purpose; but some way, when I was with him he seemed to fascinate me, to make me do just as he willed. But you have never been that way; you—you have acted as though I was somebody—somebody nice, and not just a music-hall singer. Perhaps it's just your way, and maybe, deep down you don't think I'm any better than the others do, but—but I want you to think I am, and I am going to tell you the truth, and you must believe me—I am a good girl.”

“Great God! of course you are,” he blurted out. “Don't you suppose I know? That isn't what has been bothering me, lassie. Why, I'd 'a' fought any buck who'd 'a' sneered at you. What I wanted to know was, whether or not you really cared for any of those duffers. Can you tell me that, Christie?”

She lifted her eyes to his face, her lips parted.

“I can answer any thing you ask.”

“And you do not care for them?”

“No.”

He drew his breath sharply, his round face rosy.

“Then you have got to listen to me, for I'm deadly in earnest. I'm an old, rough, bald-headed fool that don't know much about women,—I never thought before I'd ever want to,—but you can bet on one thing, I'm square. Anybody in this town will tell you I'm square. They'll tell you that whatever I say goes. I've never run around much with women; somehow I never exactly liked the kind I've come up against, and maybe they didn't feel any particular interest in me. I didn't cut much shine as a ladies' man, but, I reckon now, it's only because the right one hadn't happened along. She is here now, though, all right, and I knew it the very first time I set eyes on her. Oh, you roped and tied me all right the first throw. Maybe I did get you and that half-sister mixed up a bit, but just the same you were the one I really wanted. Hope's all right; she's a mighty fine girl, but you are the one for me, Christie. Could you—could you care for such a duffer as I am?”

Her lips were smiling and so were her eyes, but it was a pleading smile.

“I—I don't think it would be so very hard,” she admitted, “not if you really wanted me to.”

“You know what I mean—that I love you,—wish you to be my wife?”

“I supposed that was it—that—that you wanted me.”

“Yes, and—and you will love me?”

Her head drooped slowly, so slowly he did not realize the significance of the action, until her lips touched his hand.

“I do,” she said; “you are the best man in the world.”

Fairbain could not move, could not seem to realize what it all meant. The outcome had been so sudden, so surprising, that all power of expression deserted him. In bewilderment he lifted her face, and looked into her eyes. Perhaps she realized—with the swift intuition of a clever woman—the man's perplexity, for instantly she led his mind to other things.

“But let us not talk of ourselves any more, to-night. There is so much I wish to know; so much that ought to be done.” She sprang to her feet. “Why, it is almost shameful for us to stay here, selfishly happy, while others are in such trouble. Have they discovered Hope?”

“No; we scoured the whole town and found no trace. Now they are outside on the prairie, but there can be little chance of their picking up a trail before daylight.”

“And Hawley?”

“He has vanished also; without doubt they are together. What do you suppose he can want of her? How do you imagine he ever got her to go with him? She isn't that sort of a girl.”

She shook her head, shivering a little.

“He must have mistaken her for me—perhaps has not even yet discovered his mistake. But what it all means, or how he gained her consent to go with him, I cannot conceive.”

She stood with hands clasped, staring out the window.

“There is a little light showing already,” she exclaimed, pointing. “See, yonder. Oh, I trust they will find her alive, and unhurt. That man, I believe, is capable of any crime. But couldn't you be of some help? Why should you remain here with me? I am in no danger.”

“You really wish me to go, Christie?”

“Not that way—not that way,” and she turned impulsively, with hands outstretched. “Of course I want you here with me, but I want you to help bring Hope back.”

He drew her to him, supremely happy now, every feeling of embarrassment lost in complete certainty of possession.

“And I will,” he said solemnly. “Wherever they may have gone I shall follow. I am going now, dear, and when I come back you'll be glad to see me?”

“Shall I?” her eyes uplifted to his own, and swimming in tears. “I will be the happiest girl in all the world, I reckon. Oh, what a night this has been! What a wonderful night! It has given me a name, a mother, and the man I love.”

He kissed her, not in passion, but in simple tenderness, and as he turned away she sank upon her knees at the window, with head bowed upon the sill. At the door he paused, and looked back, and she turned, and smiled at him. Then he went out, and she knelt there silently, gazing forth into the dawn, her eyes blurred with tears—facing a new day, and a new life.