caught and clung a moment. Ah, those were the eyes which he must fear now! For they belonged to the side of law and order, and the owner of them would stamp him underfoot like a snake in the house. Yonder was a pair of small, bright, shifting eyes that Andrew was glad to see. A whispered word, a coin slipped into the palm of that man, and he might be made useful.
Andrew went on with his lightning summary of the things he passed. Human nature had been a blank to him before. Now he found it a crowded book, written in letters, sometimes so large and bold that the facts stared at him, and sometimes so small, an important thing was scrawled away in corners which he almost overlooked.
But he came to the main square, the heart of the town. It was quite empty. He went across to the hotel, tied the gelding at the rack, and sat down on the veranda. He wanted with all his might to go inside, to get a room, to be alone and away from this battery of searching eyes. But he dared not. He must mingle with these people and learn what they knew.
An old man beside him began talking—rambling on—asking questions. Was he out of the south? Had he come by Bill Jowett's place by any chance? Bill Jowett was an old friend. His wife was "took bad" a few weeks since with some heart trouble. The maundering voice droned on; the little, dull eyes kept wandering about the square, and Andrew came to the verge of a mad explosion. That impulse alarmed him and taught him the guard which he must keep over his tongue. As it was, he turned and, with one angry glance, silenced the old man. Then, alarmed at what he had done, he went in and sought the bar.
It should be there, if anywhere, the poster with the
