He looked at her in wonder.
"All I know is just what I heard. And you know how news gets itself all twisted up travelling half a mile. I heard he got hurt at old Loony Honeycutt's last night. Right bad hurt, they said. But I was just asking you----"
"Where is he?" she cut in excitedly. "Now?"
"Didn't you just come out of the hotel?" He looked more puzzled than ever. "Wasn't he there?"
"How do I know? Was he taken there?"
He nodded. "Leastways I heard he was. Last night----"
Gloria did not wait for more. She turned and ran back to the building she had quitted only a moment ago, bursting into the front room, demanding earnestly and in words that came with a rush: "Is my father here? Is he hurt?"
"Your father? Hurt----Say, you ain't Ben Gaynor's daughter, are you?"
"Yes, yes. And papa----"
"They had a doctor over from Placerville last night. He's coming back again this morning some time."
"Take me to papa. Quick!" said Gloria imperiously. "You should have told me the minute I came."
"But I didn't know----"
"Quick!" repeated Gloria.
He showed her to the room, only three doors beyond her own. He moved to open the door but Gloria's hand was first to the knob; she opened and went in, closing the door softly. She was trembling, frightened, dreading, oppressed by fear of what might be. Though both windows were open the shades were drawn, the light was dim. She made out a man's form on the bed; there was a white bandage about his head. He stirred and turned half over.
"Papa!" cried Gloria, her voice catching.
She ran to him and went down on her knees at his bedside, her two hands finding his upon the coverlet, clasping them tight. He looked at her in wonderment; Gloria misread the look in his eyes and for a terrible moment thought that he was dying.
"Gloria!" he said in amazement. "Here----"
"Oh, papa!"
To Ben Gaynor this unannounced coming of his daughter partook of the nature of an apparition and of a miracle. At first he would not believe his senses, fearing that he had just gone off his head. Then it was that the look in his eyes frightened her. But the hands gripping his were flesh-and-blood hands, and, besides, Ben Gaynor was a very matter-of-fact man, little given to prolonged fanciful ideas, even after a night of pain and mental distress.