Tex lounged forward a step, bringing himself into view, his face the picture of mischievous amusement. He rested his arms on the sill and smiled at her. "You are a good guesser," he admitted.
"Enter," she insisted. "Not the door, no; the window—hurry."
He slipped through with the suppleness of a naked Indian and she at once shut out the night at this and the other windows. "We must beware more eaves-droppers," she explained. She motioned to a bench and seated herself near him, looking at him intently.
"I think you kill Fritz' father that night," she began. "I am sorry."
Tex bowed, as if such unjust suspicions were his daily portion, and waited.
"You are M'sieu Peters' friend?" she questioned.
Tex carefully poked two depressions in the crown of his hat and carefully poked them out again, thinking swiftly. "Yes," he replied, meeting her eyes again.
"You are Tex Ewalt. Dave call you Comin'. M'sieu Peters not know you are here. You spy for M'sieu Peters, yes?"
"Buck told you, eh? Did you tell him I was in Twin River?"
She shook her head. "But no. I guess, when I see you at the window."