"Hello, Jim!" he cried at sight of the other. "Thought you'd be back,
but, damn it, yer too late--she's--she's gone; almighty pretty girl,
too. I told the boys it was a blame shame fer her ter run off
thataway."
"Who has run off?" And Westcott's hand crushed down on the man's
shoulder with a force that half-sobered him. "What are you talking
about?"
"Me! Let up, will yer? Yer was here hopin' ter see that New York
girl, wasn't yer?"
"Miss Donovan? Yes."
"I'd forgot her name. Well, she ain't yere--she's left."
"Left--gone from town?"
"Sure; skipped out sudden in the night; took the late train East, I
reckon. Never sed no word to nobody--just naturally packed up her duds
an' hiked."
Westcott drew a deep breath.
"Surely you do not mean she left without any explanation? She must
have paid her bill."
"Oh, she was square enough--sure. She left money an' a note pinned to
her pillow; sed she'd just got a message callin' her back home--want
ter see whut she wrote?"
"You bet I do, Timmons! Have you got the note here?"
Timmons waddled around behind the desk and ran his hand into a drawer.
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