“No.”
“Did you ever meet him before?”
“Never,” declared Glen strenuously.
Ralph had to be satisfied with this. Glen turned from him as if to hide some emotion or embarrassment. He began tying up his bag so as to cover the slit made in it by Slump’s knife and scooped up the scattered grain.
“Wait till I get this gathered up and I want to talk with you,” he said.
A new figure came lounging leisurely down the track as the watchman proceeded to his shanty. Ralph recognized Dan Lacey, a ne’er-do-well who had tried about every department of railroad service inside of two years and had failed signally in every attempt.
He was a good-natured, indolent fellow, perfectly harmless and generally popular. He halted in front of Ralph with a speculative glance at Glen Palmer.
“Howdy, Fairbanks,” he hailed. “Say, pet of yours yonder, I understand.”
“Who--Glen Palmer?”
“Yes, that’s his name.”