The boy who had driven the car out came in, and Monty sent him to the creek for a bucket of fresh water. The boy came back with the water and a look of concern on his face.
“I thought I heard somebody holler, up on the bluff,” he said to Monty. “Do you think we’d better go see——?”
Monty shook his head at him, checking the sentence. But Patricia had turned quickly and caught him at it. She came forward anxiously.
“Certainly we ought to go and see!” she said with characteristic decision. “It’s probably Mr. Marshall. He may be hurt, up there.” She started for the door, but Monty took one long step and laid a detaining hand upon her arm.
“That Voice has been hollerin’ off and on for five years,” he told her gravely. “I’ve heard it myself more than once. Gary used to hear it—often. Yuh can’t get an Injun past the mouth of the cañon on account of it. It was that Voice hollerin’ that made Waddell sell out and quit the country.”
Patricia looked at him uncomprehendingly. “What is it?” she demanded. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Neither can anybody else understand it—that I ever heard of,” Monty retorted dryly, and gently urged her toward the one homemade chair. “Supper’s about ready, Miss Connolly. I guess you’re pretty hungry, after that long ride.” Then he added in his convincing drawl—which this time was absolutely sincere—“I love Gary Marshall like I would my own brother, Miss Connolly. Yuh-all needn’t think I’d leave a stone unturned to find him. But that Voice—it ain’t anything human. It—it scares folks, but nobody has ever been able to locate it. You can’t pay any attention to it. You set up here to the table and let me pour yuh-all a cup of coffee. And here’s some bacon and some fresh eggs I fried for yuh-all. And that bread was warm when I bought it off the baker this morning.”
Patricia’s lips quivered, but she did her best to steady them. And because she appreciated Monty’s kindness and his chivalrous attempts to serve her in the best way he knew, she ate as much of the supper as she could possibly swallow, and discovered that she was hungry enough to relish the fried eggs and bacon, though she was not in the habit of eating either.
The boy—Monty called him Joe—gave Patricia the creeps with his wide-eyed uneasiness; staring from one to the other and suspending mastication now and then while he listened frankly for the Voice. Patricia tried not to notice him and was grateful to Monty for his continuous stream of inconsequential talk on any subject that came into his mind, except the one subject that filled the minds of both.
The boy, Joe, helped Monty afterward with the dishes, Patricia having been commanded to rest; a command impossible for her to obey, though she sat quiet with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Too tightly, Monty thought, whenever he looked her way.