“Fiddlesticks! If it takes my last breath, I have to get this off my chest. Now, listen close, because I’m winding up to tell you the true story o’ why I never went back to Colorado to live on my hard-earned gold.”
Jack and Hap exchanged a quick glance. Would the old man tell them another wild tale, they wondered? Or would this story, in all probability his last, be a true one?
“Don’t be wasting time trying to find any of my family after I’ve kicked off.”
“You have no relatives?”
“Nary a chick.”
“How about your friend in Colorado?” Jack suggested. “I think Jarrett Walz said his name was Craig Warner.”
Old Stony rolled his head on the pillow. “That snooping rascal!” he muttered. “He’s been in my things since they carted me off here!”
“I’m afraid he has,” Mr. Livingston admitted. Fearful of agitating the old man, he did not tell him the extent to which the motel owner had gone through his personal papers.
“Craig Warner isn’t exactly my friend,” Old Stony said slowly. “Reckon he’d hate me if he knew the truth.”
“You write to him sometimes?” Mr. Livingston suggested.