“Bit?”
“Bought. Yuh-all must have misunderstood.”
“Either way, I don’t feature it.” Gary lighted the cigarette thoughtfully. “It looks a pretty fair place—for a hermit, or a man that’s hiding out. What did this man Waddell buy it for? And how long ago?”
“I reckon he thought he wanted it. A couple of years ago, I reckon he aimed to settle down here.”
“Well, why the heck didn’t he do it then?” Gary sat down on the edge of the table and folded his arms. “Spread ’em out on the table, Monty. I won’t shoot.”
“You say yuh-all don’t aim to stay here?” Monty leveled a glance at him.
“Not any longer than it takes to sell out. You look like a live wire. I’m going to appoint you my agent and see if you can’t rustle a buyer—quick. I’ll go back with you, when you go. That will be in a couple of days, you said. So tell me the joke, Monty. I asked you in town, yesterday, and you didn’t do it.”
“I can’t say as I rightly know. I reckon maybe it was Waddy himself that was wrong, and nothin’ the matter with Johnnywater. He got along all right here for awhile—but I guess he got kind of edgey, livin’ alone here so much. He got to kinda imaginin’ he was seein’ things. And along last spring he got to hearin’ ’em. So then he wanted to sell out right away quick.”
“Oh.” Gary sounded rather crestfallen. “A nut, hunh? I thought there was something faked about the place itself.”
“Yuh-all read what I swore to,” Monty reminded him with a touch of dignity. “I wouldn’t help nobody fake a deal; not even a fellow in the shape Waddy was in. He had his money in here, and he had to git it out before he could leave. At that, he sold out at a loss. This is a right nice little place, Mr. Marshall, for anybody that wants a place like this.”