Not even her mind rested.
Miss Donovan was not naturally of a nervous disposition. She had been
brought up very largely to rely upon herself, and life had never been
sufficiently easy for her to find time in which to cultivate nerves.
Her newspaper training had been somewhat strenuous, and had won her a
reputation in New York for unusual fearlessness and devotion to duty.
Yet this situation was so utterly different, and so entirely
unexpected, that she confessed to herself she would be very glad to be
safely out of it.
A revolver shot rang out sharply from one of the rooms below, followed
by the sound of loud voices, and a noise of struggle. The startled
girl sat upright on the cot, listening, but the disturbance ceased
almost immediately, and she finally lay down again, her heart still
beating wildly. Her thoughts, never still, wandered over the events of
the evening--the arrival at Haskell station, the strange meeting with
Westcott, and the sudden revelation that he was the partner of
Frederick Cavendish.
The big, good-natured miner had interested her from the first as
representing a perfect type of her preconceived ideal of the real
Westerner.
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