The answer came without evasion. “I did.”
“I chased you across the river?”
“You did.”
“You gave me a message from Nan Morgan that she never gave you.”
“I did. I thought she needed you right off. She didn’t know me as I rightly am. I knew what was going on. I rode into town that evening and rode out again. It was not my business, and I couldn’t let it interfere with the business I’m paid to look after. That’s the reason I dodged you.”
“There is a chair at the left of the door; sit down. What’s your name?”
The man feeling around slowly, deposited his angular bulk with care upon the little chair. “My name”––in the tenseness of the dark the words seemed to carry added mystery––“is Pardaloe.”
“Where from?”
“My home is southwest of the Superstition Mountains.”