"
"Then you have friends in San Francisco?" said the young girl quickly.
"Those who know you? Why not write to them first, and tell them you are
here?"
"I don't think your postmaster here would be preoccupied with letters
for John Baxter, if I did," he said, quietly. "But here is the doctor
waiting. Good-by."
He stood looking at her in a peculiar, yet half-resigned way, and held
out his hand. For a moment she hesitated. Had he been less independent
and strong, she would have refused to let him go--have offered him
some slight employment at the ranch; for oddly enough, in spite of the
suspicion that he was concealing something, she felt that she would have
trusted him, and he would have been a help to her. But he was not only
determined, but SHE was all the time conscious that he was a totally
different man from the one she had taken care of, and merely ordinary
prudence demanded that she should know something more of him first. She
gave him her hand constrainedly; he pressed it warmly.
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