Reaching the straggling, ill-conditioned village at nightfall, she asked the driver, as she alighted in front of the stage-office, to direct her to the Buena Vista.

“The Buny Visty!  The Buny Visty’s not a hotel, ma’am,” that individual explained.  “It’s the Golden Gate that you want, I reckon.”

“No, sir,” she replied confidently.  “I have a friend at the Buena Vista—­Mr.—­Mr. Posey.  Perhaps,” she went on, with a little tremor in her voice, “you can tell me if he is well?”

“Posey!” He stopped some moments at the word and looked in blank amazement at the delicate, tender, unmistakably honest face that confronted him.  Then he continued hastily:  “Never better.  Saw him yesterday morning.  You see that green lantern?  That’s the Buny Visty.  Good-night, ma’am. I stay here—­if you should want a friend, you know.  Good-night.”

Dora thanked him for his kindness, returned his salutation, and tripped away with unruffled spirits.  She had been so much concerned to conceal her own agitation as she mentioned the name of her lover that she had quite overlooked the astonishment with which that name had seemed to transfix the driver.

As she picked her way along the dark and muddy sidewalk she could not help complaining a little petulantly to herself because the stage-office had not been located nearer to that distant green lantern.  But she was not the girl to lose heart now.  Bravely she plodded on, and when at last she was able to discern the words “Buena Vista” upon the beacon toward which she was toiling, suddenly her heart gave a great bound, the tears rushed to her eyes, her knees quaked beneath her, and from her pious soul there went up an earnest thanksgiving to the dear Father of us all for His great mercy in bringing her safely to the end of her momentous journey.

It was some minutes before she could so far compose herself as to be able to proceed; and when she did move forward again, I think a vague notion of the true character of the Buena Vista began to cast a shadow upon her ardor.  As she came within a couple of rods of the isolated wooden building in front of which the green lantern was suspended she was suddenly startled at hearing several shots discharged in quick succession within, and a minute later three or four men rushed hastily into the street and hurried away, evidently without noticing her, though they passed within a few feet of her as she stood, almost paralyzed with alarm, just outside the door.  Her fright was gone in a moment, however—­soon enough, indeed, to enable her to satisfy herself that none of these fugitives was the man she sought.  As the door stood wide open, there seemed nothing for her to do but enter, which she did at once.  The front apartment of the saloon, though lighted, she found to be a mere ante-room, bare of all furniture save a few chairs; and without pausing here the resolute girl, who must have had a foreboding of the awful truth by this time,