"You didn't, unless you were listening at the door," came the quick response.
Jackson's brows contracted; but he laughed not unpleasantly.
"There's no call for you to be so mighty slick wi' your speech," he said. "I was in the passage way, and heard you mention the name of an old friend of mine, but I was not listening at the door. Why, Mackay stayed with me a night when he passed through about a month or so ago. He and I were mates in the good old roaring days."
The Shadow's face assumed an expression of grave concern.
"I climbs down, boss," said he, contritely. "I thought you might have been trying to pump me for Macguire's benefit."
Jackson uttered an expression of deep disgust. "Why, that skunk! I wouldn't be seen dead alongside o' him. He's the meanest, rottenest——"
The Shadow bolted the final portion of his breakfast in a hurry, and held out a grimy paw. "Shake, boss," he said laconically. They shook; and the now refreshed youth went once more into the history of Golden Flat, retailing with gusto the wonderful encounter between Macguire and Mackay. "His silly old bones cracked like pipe shanks," he concluded, with reminiscent accurateness.
"By thunder!" ejaculated the appreciative listener, aroused to a sudden sense of duty. "That broken-ribbed bruiser will have your life if he sees you now. How do you mean to get back?"
"Walk," answered the Shadow, shortly.
"Walk be hanged. I'll lend you a horse; but you must look slippy an' get away. I will come out myself an' see if I can get a decent claim before the whole population rushes you; I can fetch the horse back when I come." He arose hurriedly, evidently intent on seeking out a steed right away, but at the door he stopped and looked back. "What was that life-and-death racquet you worked on my tender feelings?" he asked sternly.