"I don't believe I know him."

Her glance was almost one of laughter.

"Why, how can you tell? You don't even know his name." She paused, then
added quietly: "It's Glenmore Kent." She felt he had a right to know not
only her brother's name, but also her own, if only for what he had done.
"You might, of course, know him after all," she concluded. "He has quite
a number of acquaintances."

"Kent," said Van. To himself it was "Beth Kent" he was saying. "No,
guess not. No such luck, but I hope you'll find him in the camp."

"Do you think I may not?" She was just a trifle startled by the
possibility.

He was grave for once.

"Men come and go in a mining town, where everyone's unduly excited. If
he isn't on deck, then have you no one else? Have you any alternative
plan?"

"Why, no," she confessed, her alarm increasing, "not unless Mr. Bostwick
has arrived and arranged our accommodations."

"I wouldn't count on Searle," drawled Van significantly. "He may have to
walk."

"Not across the awful desert?"