I guess she did not run away from them.
And I was away a good deal--working in another town. She was in love
with a wild fellow. I knew nothing of it till too late. He was engaged
to marry her. But he didn't come back. And when the disgrace became
plain to all, my girl left home. She went West. After a while I heard
from her. She was well--working--living for her baby. A long
time passed. I had no ties. I drifted West. Her lover had also
gone West. In those days everybody went West. I trailed him,
intending to kill him. But I lost his trail. Neither could I find
any trace of her. She had moved on, driven, no doubt, by the hound
of her past. Since then I have taken to the wilds, hunting gold
on the desert."
"Yes, it's the old, old story, only sadder, I think," said Cameron;
and his voice was strained and unnatural. "Pardner, what Illinois town
was it you hailed from?"
"Peoria."
"And your--your name?" went on Cameron huskily.
"Warren--Jonas Warren."
That name might as well have been a bullet. Cameron stood erect,
motionless, as men sometimes stand momentarily when shot straight
through the heart. In an instant, when thoughts resurged like
blinding flashes of lightning through his mind, he was a swaying,
quivering, terror-stricken man. He mumbled something hoarsely and
backed into the shadow. But he need not have feared discovery,
however surely his agitation might have betrayed him. Warren sat
brooding over the campfire, oblivious of his comrade, absorbed in
the past.
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