“My questions were prompted solely by curiosity,” he explained, evidently not wholly at ease.  “I was expecting a young woman, and thought this new arrival might prove to be my friend.”

“Hardly,” returned Westcott dryly.  “As the landlord informed you, Miss Donovan is a lady.”

If he expected this shot to take effect he was disappointed, for the grin never left Beaton’s face.

“Ah, a good joke; a very good joke, indeed.  But you misunderstand; this is altogether a business matter.  This young woman whom I expect is coming here on a mining deal—­it is not a love affair at all, I assure you.”

Westcott’s eyes sparkled, yet without merriment.

“Quite pleased to be so assured,” he answered carelessly.  “In what manner can I satisfy your curiosity?  You have already been informed, I believe, that the person relative to whom you inquire is a Miss Stella Donovan, of New York; that she has the appearance and manners of a lady, and possesses brown hair and grey eyes.  Is there anything more?”

“Why, no—­certainly not.”

“I thought possibly you might care to question me regarding my acquaintance with the young woman?” Westcott went on, his voice hardening slightly.  “If so, I have not the slightest objection to telling you that it consists entirely of acting as her escort from the station to the hotel.  I do not know why she is here, how long she intends staying, or what her purpose may be.  Indeed, there is only one fact I do know which may be of interest to you.”

Beaton, surprised by the language of the other, remained silent, his face turning purple, as a suspicion came to him that he was being made a fool of.

“It is this, my friend—­who she is, what she is, and why she happens to be here, is none of your damn business, and if you so much as mention her name again in my presence you are going to regret it to your dying day.  That’s all.”

Beaton, glancing about at the uplifted faces of the card-players, chose to assume an air of indifference, which scarcely accorded with the anger in his eyes.

“Ah, come now,” he blurted forth, “I didn’t mean anything; there’s no harm done—­let’s have a drink, and be friends.”

Westcott shook his head.

“No, I think not,” he said slowly.  “I’m not much of a drinking man myself, and when I do I choose my own company.  But let me tell you something, Beaton, for your own good.  I know your style, and you are mighty apt to get into trouble out here if you use any Bowery tactics.”

“Bowery tactics!”

“Yes; you claim to live in New York, and you possess all the earmarks of the East-Side bad man.  There is nothing keeping you now from roughing it with me but the sight of this gun in my belt, and a suspicion in your mind that I may know how to use it.  That suspicion is correct.  Moreover, you will discover this same ability more or less prevalent throughout this section.  However, I am not looking for trouble; I am trying to avoid it.  I haven’t sought your company; I do not want to know you.  Now you go back to your bar-room where you will find plenty of your own kind to associate with.  It’s going to be dangerous for you to hang around here any longer.”