Johnny stumbled over his answer. “Why—er—nothin’,” he drawled.
Molly nodded her head sagaciously. She was not fooled.
“I knew it,” she said decisively. “You’ve been telling me only half the truth. You were too painfully careful not to mention father’s name. Your quarrel had something to do with Mr. Traynor’s death.”
Johnny hung his head, afraid to meet her eyes, or else he would have seen the girl’s face pale.
“Tell me, Johnny,” she said with a queer little quaver in her voice, “is father in trouble?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, go on,” she prompted.
The boy sighed heavily, continuing to look away.
“I didn’t want to say nothin’ ’bout our run-in,” said he. “Now you’re thinkin’ all sorts of things, and I got to tell you. Old Aaron’s a fool, and he tried to shut me up. Couldn’t do it, though. Then the boss came in and sided with him. That riled me, seein’ as how the man couldn’t have killed hisself. I made some talk about findin’ out who did the killin’, and I was told pretty plain that I could either punch cattle or quit, that the Diamond-Bar wasn’t payin’ wages to have me goin’ around snoopin’ into what didn’t concern me none.”
“I can just hear father saying that,” Molly declared. “You’ve got to forgive him, Johnny. He’s so old; and he worries so lately. He helped to elect Mr. Gallup. Naturally he couldn’t go back on him. Honestly, you had me worried. I just couldn’t imagine what had happened. Don’t look so glum. I’ll see that father asks you to come back.”