She had been brought up very largely to rely upon herself, and life had never been sufficiently easy for her to find time in which to cultivate nerves.
Her newspaper training had been somewhat strenuous, and had won her a reputation in New York for unusual fearlessness and devotion to duty.
Yet this situation was so utterly different, and so entirely unexpected, that she confessed to herself she would be very glad to be safely out of it.
A revolver shot rang out sharply from one of the rooms below, followed by the sound of loud voices, and a noise of struggle.

The startled girl sat upright on the cot, listening, but the disturbance ceased almost immediately, and she finally lay down again, her heart still beating wildly.

Her thoughts, never still, wandered over the events of the evening--the arrival at Haskell station, the strange meeting with Westcott, and the sudden revelation that he was the partner of Frederick Cavendish.
The big, good-natured miner had interested her from the first as representing a perfect type of her preconceived ideal of the real Westerner.

She had liked the firm character of his face, the quiet, thoughtful way in which he acted, the whole unobtrusive bearing of the man.

Then, as they had walked that long mile together in the darkness, she had learned things about him--little glimpses of his past, and of dawning hopes--which only served to increase her confidence.