promise to let him know when the girl turned up or whatever might be news of her was little enough comfort to carry him out to his retreat in the foothills of the Broken Horns.
The man was wholly under the spell of the girl's magic beauty. In a vague way he thought because he knew her beauty he knew her soul. Well enough Whistler appreciated that this latter was not yet his to command. But a dogged belief that, given opportunity, he could establish dominion over that soul buoyed him up through all the agony of doubt the thought of Hilma's enforced meeting with Original Bill entailed.
The third figure in this cut-out puzzle of jumbled destinies, Original Bill, was moving upon a serious business these days following the mob sway in town. Not once did he return to town during the perfecting of his plans, for well he knew that spies there always awaited eagerly opportunity to pass the Spout news of his comings and goings. Instead he was careful to do what riding was necessary only by night lest even the most casual wayfarer on the road might by a careless remark in town spoil his carefully upbuilding plans.
So under the stars he rode from home ranch
