“Oh yes! It’s the jumping-off place—the end of a narrow-gauge railroad.”
“You have been in Adonia?”
“A few times.”
“I had—there were friends of mine—they were friends of a man in Adonia. His name was—let’s see!” He wondered whether the faint wrinkle of a frown under the bronze-flecked hair on her forehead was as much the expression of puzzled memory as she was trying to make it seem; there did appear something not wholly ingenuous in her looks just then. “Oh, his name is Flagg.”
“Echford Flagg?”
“Yes, that’s it. My friends were very friendly with him, and I’d like to be able to tell them——” She hesitated.
“You have given me some news,” he declared, bluntly; in his mood of the day he was finding no good qualities in mankind. “I never heard of Eck Flagg having any friends. Well, I’ll take that back! I believe he’s ace high among the Tarratine Indians up our way; they have made him an honorary chief. But it’s no particular compliment to a white man’s disposition to be able to qualify as an Indian, as I look at it.”
This time he was not in doubt about the expression on her face; a sudden grimace like grief wreathed the red lips and there was more than a suspicion of tears in her eyes. He stared at her, frankly amazed.
“If I have stepped on toes I am sorry. I never did know how to talk to young ladies without making a mess sooner or later.”
She returned no reply, and he went on with his food to cover his embarrassment.