He was at the desk when Timmons returned.
"What do I owe you, old man ?" He paid the bill jokingly and in the best of humour, careful to tell the proprietor that he was leaving for his mine and might not return for several days.

He possessed confidence that Timmons would make no secret of this in Haskell after his departure.

He was glad to notice that Beaton observed him as he passed the Good Luck Saloon and went tramping down the dusty road.

He never glanced back until he turned into the north trail at the edge of town; there the path dropped suddenly toward the bed of the creek, and he was concealed from view.
In the rock shadow he paused, chuckling grimly as he observed the New Yorker cross the street to the hotel, hastening, no doubt, to interview Timmons.
There was a crooked trail along the bank of the stream which joined the main road at the west end of the lower bridge.

It led up the canon amid rocks and cedars, causing it to assume a strangely tortuous course, and its lower end was shadowed by overhanging willows.