“It ain't now, for I kem over it this mornin' myself.”
“You didn't—meet—anyone?” asked Mrs. Hale timidly, with a glance at the others.
“No.”
A long silence ensued. The unfortunate visitor plainly perceived an evident abatement of interest in himself, yet he still struggled politely to say something. “Then I reckon you know what kept Hale away?” he said dubiously.
“Oh, certainly—the stage robbery.”
“I wish I'd known that,” said the stranger reflectively, “for I ez good ez rode over jist to tell it to ye. Ye see John Hale, he sent a note to ye 'splainin' matters by a gentleman; but the road agents tackled that man, and left him for dead in the road.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Hale impatiently.
“Luckily he didn't die, but kem to, and managed to crawl inter the brush, whar I found him when I was lookin' for stock, and brought him to my house—”
“YOU found him? YOUR house?” interrupted Mrs. Hale.
“Inter MY house,” continued the man doggedly. “I'm Thompson of Thompson's Pass over yon; mebbe it ain't much of a house; but I brought him thar. Well, ez he couldn't find the note that Hale had guv him, and like ez not the road agents had gone through him and got it, ez soon ez the weather let up I made a break over yer to tell ye.”