“No,” Barreau refused flatly. “I will not lie to her if both our necks depended on it. For that matter, the explanation is simple. Why not tell her the truth yourself?”
Montell looked at him curiously. Of a sudden the set of his heavy, florid face seemed to become a trifle defiant, aggressive.
“There’s no use standin’ here arguin’,” he said shortly. “Come on to the store. Let’s get an understandin’ of this thing.”
He led the way. Within, as well as without, the rebuilt storehouse was transformed. A great clutter of goods in bales and sacks and small boxes filled it nearly to overflowing. Shelves lined the walls. On each side a rude counter ran the length of the building. Here and there a semblance of orderly arrangement was beginning to show. A fire crackled on the open hearth at one end. An upended box, littered with bills of merchandise and a ledger or two, stood against the wall. By this rude desk Montell sat him down on a stool. He turned a look of inquiry on me, but Barreau forestalled his question.
“This is Bob Sumner,” he made known perfunctorily. “The son of that Texas cattleman who owned the Toreante place on Rose Hill. I believe you knew him slightly. Sumner will winter with us. You need not stutter over talking before him.”
“I don’t stutter over talkin’ before anybody, far as I’m concerned. It’s your funeral,” Montell retorted. Then he turned to me.
“So you’re John Sumner’s boy, eh?” He sized me up with new interest. I dare say he was wondering how I came to be in Barreau’s company on the very night of his breaking jail. “Yes, sir, I did know your father. Did business with him a time or two. Mighty fine man. Seems to me I heard he died last spring. Left quite a large estate, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” I answered briefly to both questions. It was not a subject I cared to discuss just then.
“Too bad, too bad,” he commiserated—but whether the sympathy he forced into his tone was for the death of my father, or for me, I did not know—nor care very much. It sounded like one of those convenient platitudes that become a habit with people. He focused his attention on Barreau, however, immediately after this.
“Now, George,” he said, “suppose we have a word in private, eh?”