“What?”
Johnny’s exclamation was whipped out with such force as to startle old Dan. Here was that draw again—Molly and the dead man. Every place he turned he came face to face with it.
The gunsmith misunderstood the boy’s attitude. “Why, Johnny, they wa’n’t no harm in the question. I told him folks said only good things of Molly Kent. And he didn’t seem to set no great store by my answer. Said he was goin’ over to the Piute Reservation; didn’t say he was, but I knew it because he asked me if he could git to Standing Rock from the North Fork without a-comin’ way back here.”
Johnny began to understand that the talk the two men had was of vital importance, even though old Dan saw nothing of value in it. The boy wondered if he should tell the old man of the murder. Another day and he would know of it, anyhow. Better make an ally of the old man and get him to hold his tongue. And then, too, the surprise of telling him now might startle him into recalling some other bit of conversation.
“Dan,” he began, “when did you have that talk?”
“’Bout six days ago, I reckon.”
“You ain’t sure?”
“Le’s see—yes, I’m sot on that. ’Twas the first of the month.”
The first of the month; this was the sixth. Tony had seen the man on the North Fork five days ago. It fitted in!
“He didn’t say who he was goin’ to see over in the Injun country?”