She regarded him quizzically. "I won't ask a single question. You needn't be afraid."
"Did you think I meant to head off your natural curiosity? Not a bit of it. You want to know where Tom is going at this time of night, and why?"
"Of course I do. But I won't ask."
"You may just as well know now as later." He told her what had happened, omitting to mention McHale's real reason for leaving the ranch. Even in the darkness he could see the trouble in her eyes.
"You really mean it?" she questioned. "You mean that he has killed a man?"
"Either that or shot him up pretty badly."
"I can scarcely believe it. I like McHale; he's droll, humorous, so cheerful, so easy-going. I can't think of him as a murderer."
"Nonsense!" said Casey. "No murder about it. It was a fair gun fight—an even break. This fellow came at Tom, shooting. He had to protect himself."
"He could have avoided it. He had time to get on his horse and ride away. But he waited."
"He did right," said Casey. "This man would have shot him on sight. It was best to settle it then and there."