He turned his head and looked at Dade.
That young man was breathing heavily and regularly. He turned toward
the door of the room. The door was closed. A flood of moonlight
entered the window; objects in the room were clearly distinguishable,
and nothing seemed wrong here. But something was wrong--he was certain
of that. And so he got carefully out of bed and looked out of the
window, listening, peering intently in all directions within the limits
of his vision. No sound greeted his ears, no moving object caught his
gaze. But he was not satisfied.
He put on his clothes, buckled his cartridge belt around his waist,
took his six-shooter from beneath his pillow, and stuck it into the
holster, and in his stockinged feet opened the door of the room and
stepped out into the hall. He was of the opinion that something had
gone wrong with the horses, and he intended to make the rounds of the
stable and corrals to satisfy his curiosity. Strangely, he did not
think of the possibility of Betty meeting Taggart again, until he had
reached the bottom of the stairs. Even then he was half-way across the
dining-room, stepping carefully and noiselessly for fear he might
awaken someone, when he glanced back with a sudden suspicion, toward
the door of the office. As in that other time there shone a streak of
light through the crevice between the bottom of the door and the
threshold.
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