The Cover of Darkness

Beth Norvell did not remember ever having fainted in her life, yet for
a moment after these words reached her, all around grew dark, and she
was compelled to grasp the counter to keep from falling. The strain of
the long night, coupled with such unexpected news proving she had
arrived too late with her warning, served to daze her brain, to leave
her utterly unable either to think or plan. The clerk, alarmed by the
sudden pallor of her face, was at her side instantly, holding eagerly
forth that panacea for all fleshly ills in the West, a bottle of
whiskey.

"Good Lord, Miss, don't faint away!" he cried excitedly. "Here, just
take a swig of this; there 's plenty of water in it, and it's the stuff
to pull you through. There, that's better. Great Scott, but I sure
thought you was goin' to flop over that time." He assisted her to a
convenient chair, then stepped back, gazing curiously into her face,
the black bottle still in his hand. "What's the trouble, anyhow?" he
questioned, his mind filled with sudden suspicion. "That--that fellow
did n't throw you, did he?"

Miss Norvell, her fingers clasping the chair arm for support, rose
hurriedly to her feet, a red flush sweeping into her pallid cheeks.
For an instant her intense indignation held her speechless.

"'Throw' me? What is it you mean?" she exclaimed, her voice faltering.
"Do you rank me with those shameless creatures out yonder? It is for
Mr. Winston's sake I sought word with him; it has nothing whatever to
do with myself. I chanced to learn news of the utmost importance, news
which he must possess before morning; yet it is not a message I can
trust to any one else. My God! what can I do?" She paused irresolute,
her hands pressing her temples. The boy, his interest aroused, took a
step forward.