Monty had not meant to be cruel. Now that he was on the spot, he tried his best to soften the shock of what he knew Patricia must discover. That morning he had purposely avoided speaking of his reasons for fearing the worst. Then Patricia’s manner—assumed merely to hide her real emotion—had chilled Monty to silence on the whole subject. With the driver present they had not discussed the matter at all during the trip, so that Patricia was still ignorant of what Monty believed to be the real, tragic state of affairs.
Monty looked up from lighting a fire in the stove and saw Patricia go over to Gary’s coat and smooth it caressingly with her hand. Then and there he forgave Patricia for her tone at breakfast. She took Gary’s hat from the cupboard and held it in her hands, her eyes questioning Monty.
“Gary was saving that hat till he went to town again,” Monty informed her in his gentle drawl. “He was wearing an old hat of Waddell’s, and some old clothes Waddell left here when he pulled out. You see now, Miss Connolly, one reason why I don’t believe Gary went to Tonopah. His suit case is there, too, under the bunk. But don’t yuh-all worry—we’ll find him.”
He turned back to his fire-building, and Patricia sat down on the edge of the bunk and stared wide-eyed around the cabin.
So this was why she had failed to hear from Gary in all these weeks! He had come over here to Johnnywater after all, because she wished it. She had never dreamed the place would be so lonely. And Gary had lived here all alone!
“Is this all there is to the house—just this one room?” she asked Monty abruptly, in her prim, colorless tone.
“Yes, ma’am, this is the size of it,” Monty replied cheerfully. “Folks don’t generally waste much time on buildin’ fancy houses, out here. Most generally they’re mighty thankful if the walls keep out the wind and the roof don’t leak. If it’s dry and warm, they don’t care if it ain’t stylish.”
“Is this the way Gary left it?” she asked next, glancing down at the rough board floor that gave evidence of having been lately scrubbed.
“Yes, ma’am, except for the dust on things. Gary Marshall was a right neat housekeeper, Miss Connolly.”
“Was?” Patricia stood up and came toward him. “Do you think he’s—what makes you say was?”