“What is the number of Miss Norvell’s room?”

“Fifty-four—­first door to the right of the stairs.”

He took the steep flight of steps at a run, caught a glimpse of dimly reflected light shining through the closed transom, and rapped sharply.  There was a hurried movement within, and her voice spoke.

“What is wanted?”

“I am Mr. Winston, and I must speak with you at once.”

His tone was sufficiently low and earnest to make her realize instantly some grave emergency.  Without hesitation the door was held open, and she stood before him in the faint light of the single lamp, wearing a fleecy white wrapper, her dark hair partially disarranged, her eyes seeking his own in bewilderment.

“What is it?”

“Are you aware that both Albrecht and Lane have skipped out?”

“Why, no,” her cheeks suddenly paling, her fingers clasping the edge of the door.  “Do you mean they have deserted us here to—­to take care of ourselves?”

He nodded.  “Yes, that’s about it.  What I came to ask was, does that fellow owe you any money?”

For an instant she hesitated, as if in lingering distrust of his exact purpose, her lips parted, her face still plainly picturing the shock of discovery.

“What difference can that possibly make now?  Why do you require to know?”

“Because I half believe you have been left penniless.  Albrecht has not even spoken about any pay to me since I joined the company; and when I learned he had deliberately left us stalled here, my first thought was of your unpleasant situation if my suspicions proved true.”

“If they were, what is there you can do?”

“The hotel clerk says it is possible to reach the Junction on horseback before any trains leave there on the main line.  I propose to make him disgorge, but I must know first exactly how things stand.  Have you any money?”

She stood gazing at him, her anger, shame, all forgotten in the fascination of Winston’s determined face.  For the first time she thoroughly comprehended the cool, compelling power of this man, and it mastered her completely.  She felt no longer the slightest doubt of what he purposed doing, and her woman heart swelled responsively to his masculine strength.

“I—­I have n’t got a dollar,” she confessed simply, her lashes drooping over her lowered eyes.

“What does that fellow owe you?”

“Two hundred and sixty dollars; he has merely dribbled out what little I have been actually compelled to ask for.”

A moment he remained standing there, breathing hard.  Once she ventured to glance up inquiringly, only to catch his stern eyes, and as instantly lower her own.

“All right, Miss Norvell,” he said finally, the words seeming fairly to explode from between his lips.  “I understand the situation now, and you are to remain here until I come back.  I ’ll get your money, don’t fear, if I have to trail him clear to Denver, but I ’ll take what little the miserable thief owes me out of his hide.”