The first person I saw whom I recognized was Dick, and he handed me a note from Sally.  She seemed to take it for granted that I had been wise to leave the ranch.  Miss Sampson had softened somewhat when she learned Sally and I were engaged, and she had forgiven my deceit.  Sally asked me to come that night after eight, down among the trees and shrubbery, to a secluded spot we knew.  It was a brief note and all to the point.  But there was something in it that affected me strangely.  I had imagined the engagement an invention for the moment.  But after danger to me was past Sally would not have carried on a pretense, not even to win back Miss Sampson’s respect.  The fact was, Sally meant that engagement.  If I did the right thing now I would not lose her.

But what was the right thing?

I was sorely perplexed and deeply touched.  Never had I a harder task than that of the hour—­to put her out of my mind.  I went boldly to Steele’s house.  He was not there.  There was nothing by which I could tell when he had been there.  The lamp might have been turned out or might have burned out.  The oil was low.  I saw a good many tracks round in the sandy walks.  I did not recognize Steele’s.

As I hurried away I detected more than one of Steele’s nearest neighbors peering at me from windows and doors.  Then I went to Mrs. Hoden’s.  She was up and about and cheerful.  The children were playing, manifestly well cared for and content.  Mrs. Hoden had not seen Steele since I had.  Miss Samson had sent her servant.  There was a very decided change in the atmosphere of Mrs. Hoden’s home, and I saw that for her the worst was past, and she was bravely, hopefully facing the future.

From there, I hurried to the main street of Linrock and to that section where violence brooded, ready at any chance moment to lift its hydra head.  For that time of day the street seemed unusually quiet.  Few pedestrians were abroad and few loungers.  There was a row of saddled horses on each side of the street, the full extent of the block.

I went into the big barroom of the Hope So.  I had never seen the place so full, nor had it ever seemed so quiet.  The whole long bar was lined by shirt-sleeved men, with hats slouched back and vests flapping wide.  Those who were not drinking were talking low.  Half a dozen tables held as many groups of dusty, motley men, some silent, others speaking and gesticulating, all earnest.

At first glance I did not see any one in whom I had especial interest.  The principal actors of my drama did not appear to be present.  However, there were rough characters more in evidence than at any other time I had visited the saloon.  Voices were too low for me to catch, but I followed the direction of some of the significant gestures.  Then I saw that these half dozen tables were rather closely grouped and drawn back from the center of the big room.  Next my quick sight took in a smashed table and chairs, some broken bottles on the floor, and then a dark sinister splotch of blood.