“Then you recognized him the other night in Standing Rock, eh?” Johnny asked.
“Of course!”
“Well, why didn’t you admit it?”
“Are you dumb enough to ask that? Do you think I wanted my girl’s name mixed up with a killin’? Ain’t no Kent goin’ to be mixed up like that. Me and mine stay clean. Let the dead take care of themselves. No one but you figured he’d been killed. Plain enough he did it himself. He was that kind. If he figured on meetin’ me here, it was to make a touch. But he’s dead now and he’ll stay dead. He’s gone where he’ll never put the tongues of folks on my child. Whether he killed himself or was murdered makes no difference to me.”
“Justice don’t mean anythin’ to you, eh?”
“You’ve known me for nigh on ten years. You can take your own answer to your question from that. Traynor was a lowdown, ornery reptile. He didn’t get less than his deserts!”
Johnny shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said grimly, “but I don’t believe you. I’ll have my own answer before I’m through. No act or word of mine will bring any harm to your daughter. Her good opinion of me is the most precious thing I possess. I aim to keep it. I can’t figure any easier way to lose it than to let her think I’m two-faced. I finish what I start! You’ve made me look small with your talk and insinuations. If I didn’t tell her about the picture and of my own run-in with you, it was because I knew she was too upset to hear it now. But I said I’d ask her—and I’m doin’ it this minute.”
Johnnie turned his back on the old man and came close to Molly’s side.
“You’ve heard it all, Molly,” said Johnny. “You know what I’m askin’—I want to keep that picture. Am I fit to have it?”