"I didn't stay there long," she equivocated. "But I got some very good ideas, and I am glad that I didn't write much. I should have had to destroy it, because I have decided upon a different beginning. Ben made the trip to Dry Bottom yesterday, and last night he told something that had happened there that has given me some very good material for a beginning."
"That's awful interestin'," he observed. "So now you'll be able to start your book with somethin' that really happened?"
"Real and original," she returned, with a quick glance at him. "Ben told me that about a month ago some men had a shooting match in Dry Bottom. They used a can for a target, and one man kept it in the air until he put six bullet holes through it. Ben says he is pretty handy with his weapons, but he could never do that. He insists that few men can, and he is inclined to think that the man who did do it must have been a gunfighter. I suppose you have never tried it?"
Over his lips while she had been speaking had crept the slight mocking smile which always told better than words of the cold cynicism that moved him at times. Did she know anything? Did she suspect him? The smile masked an interest that illumined his eyes very slightly as he looked at her.
"I expect that is plum slick shootin'," he returned slowly. "But some men can do it. I've knowed them. But I ain't heard that it's been done lately in this here country. I reckon Ben told you somethin' of how this man looked?"
He had succeeded in putting the question very casually, and she had not caught the note of deep interest in his voice.
"Why it's very odd," she said, looking him over carefully; "from Ben's description I should assume that the man looked very like you!"
If her reply had startled him he gave little evidence of it. He sat perfectly quiet, gazing with steady eyes out over the big basin. For a time she sat silent also, her gaze following his. Then she turned.
"That would be odd, wouldn't it?" she said.
"What would?" he answered, not looking at her.