The copper era and Morenci leader., 1912-04-19
CHAPTER XXIV.
A Mistake In Assassination

Let his future be what 1t might, Jack Keith would never again forget the girl who held the door open for his passage with one hand, her other clasped in his. Interested before, yet forcing himself into indifference now that he knew who she really was, the man made full surrender. It was @ struggle that kept him from clasping the slender figure in his arms, and pouring forth the words of tenderness which he sternly choked back This was neither the time, nor the place, yet his eyes must have spoken, for Hopes glance fell, and her cheeks grew crimson.
 T do not need to pledge you to re- turn this time, do I?' she questioned, her voice trembling
 "No," he answered, nor any time again."
 The hall was deserted, but & few men loitered in the office. Keith recognized none of the faces, and did not stop to make any inquiries of the clerk. It was growing dark, the lights already burning, and from the plash- ing of drops on the window, 1t must
 be raining outside. Hawley would surely have ended his call upon Miss Maclaire long before this, and left the hotel. However interesting his com munication might have proven, she must fill her evening engagement at the Trocadero, and would require time for supper and rest. AS to the result of that interview there could be little doubt. Providing the gambler pos sessed the proper papers he would have small difficulty in convincing the girl that she was indeed the one sought. Keith had probed sufficiently into her mind to feel assured that her inclination was to side with Hawley. Under all the circumstances this was natural enough, and he did not blame her.
 He glanced into the bar-room as he passed, not in any anticipation, but merely from the vigilance which be- comes second nature upon the from tier. Hawley stood leaning against the bar, where he could see any one passing through the hall. The eyes of the two men met, but the gambler never moved, never changed his at utude, although Keith noted that his right hand was hidden beneath the skirts of his long coat. The plains man drew back, facing his enemy, un- til he reached the outer door. There was a sheer on Hawley's dark sinis- ter face like an invitation, but a mem ory of the girl he had just left, and her dependence upon him, caused Keith to avoid an encounter. He would fight this affair out in a differ ent way. As the door opened and he ha p1n ha hr11 h. ed against a man apparently just en- tering. The gleam of light fell for an instant upon the face of the other-it was Scotty with the red moustache.
 They had been watching for him then-what for? Hawley on the in- side, and this man Scott without, were waiting to determine when he left the hotel; would probably dog his footsteps to discover where he went Keith loosened his revolver, so as to be assured he could draw quickly, and slipped back into the shadow of the steps, his eyes on the door of tho hotel. There was a cold, driZzly rain falling, the streets almost deserted, appearing sodden and miserable where the lights shone forth through saloon windows. One or two men, seeking supper, coat collars turned up and hats drawn low over their eyes, climbed the rickety steps and went in, but no one came out. Perhaps he was mistaken as to the purpose of those fellows; they may have desired merely to know when he left, or Scott's return just at that moment : might have been an accident. To be [ sure, the hotel possessed a back exit, but he could not cover both ends of i the building, and must take his ! chances. It was too wet and disagree able to remain crouched there, now that 1t was evident there was no in- tention of following him. With hand on the butt of his gun, suspicious and watchfu1, yet with scarcely a faster beat to his heart, Keith strengthened up, and began splashing his way through the mud down the street He knew where Willoughby would be most likely found at this hour-with cronies at the "Tenderfoot"-and he meant to discover the boy, and make him confess to Hope the truth. Mat ters had now reached a point where longer delay was dangerous.
 Sheridan was seemingly dead, the long street silent, gloomy, black, ex- cept for those streams of saloon light shining across pools of water. He stumbled over the irregular ground, occasionally striking patches of wood en sidewalk or strip of cinders. Here and there a tent Tapped in the wind. which drove the drizzle into his face; somewhere ahead 8 swinging sign moaned as if in agony. A few wan derers ploughed through the muck, dim uncertain shapes appearing and vanishing In the gloom. He had gone a block and over, the struggle against the alenenfs leaving him forxefflll of