The street was devoid of excitement, although the Red Dog was
wide open for business, and Westcott caught a glimpse of Mike busily
engaged behind the bar. A man or two passing glanced at them
curiously, but, possibly because of failure to recognise him in the
darkness, no alarm was raised, or any effort made to block their
progress. Without Lacy to urge them on, the disciples of Judge Lynch
had likely enough forgotten the whole affair. Timmons, hearing the
creak of approaching wheels, and surmising the arrival of guests, came
lumbering out through the open door, his face beaming welcome. Behind
him the vacant office stood fully revealed in the light of
bracket-lamps.
As Westcott clambered over the wheel, and then assisted the lady to
alight, the face of the landlord was sufficiently expressive of
surprise.
"You!" he exclaimed, staring into their faces doubtfully. "What the
Sam Hill does this mean?"
"Only that we've got back, Timmons. Why this frigid reception?"
"Well, this yere is a respectable hotel, an' I ain't goin' ter have it
all mussed up by no lynchin' party," the landlord's voice full of
regret.
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