“A fellow left them here the other day.”
“A fellow?” coming nearer, looking sharply at the belt. “That’s Hector Hall’s belt––I’ve seen him wearing it! There his initials are, worked out in silver tacks! Where did you get it?”
“Mr. Hall left it here. What kept you, Joan? I’ve been worried about you.”
“Hector Hall left it here? With both of his guns?”
“Yes, he left the guns with it. What was the matter, Joan?”
Joan looked him up and down, her face a study between admiration and fear.
“Left his guns! Well, what did you do with him?”
“I suppose he went home, Joan. Did anything happen over your way to keep you?”
“Charley was sick,” she said, shortly, abstractedly, drowned in her wonder of the thing he told with his native reluctance when questioned on his own exploits. “Did you have a fight with Hector?”
“Is he all right now?”