"Well, it happens, sir, that I'm a private investigator, specializing in missing persons," I lied with gusto. "When the University hired me to locate MacRoberts, I interviewed the man's friends, talked with the Indians, etc. And behold, here I am."
I grinned broadly with affected boastfulness. Chetzisky eyed me intently. I felt grateful for my mask of beard at that moment.
"You came alone?" he asked, relieving me of the automatic in my belt.
I nodded.
The Doctor put down his rifle. "I'm sorry to appear threatening. But I have reasons. Will you come into my cabin?"
He ushered me in front of him into a low-ceilinged house of fir logs. The room we entered was furnished with home-made chairs and a table on which a lantern burned with a low wick. In the far corner was a door leading to another room.
"My name's Roy Carlson," I said amiably as we sat down at the table, Chetzisky at one side alone, the rifle across his knees.
"I'm Doctor Hansen, geologist," volunteered Chetzisky, bowing slightly, and after a pause, "an associate of Doctor MacRoberts."
"Then where is he?" I demanded, seeking to keep the Doctor on the defensive.