Grant might be in these same hills with himself; Grant upon whom his counsel had sought to place the 145 blame for the murder of Captain Comyn. If they could meet alone for the period of a brief interview, either that question would be finally answered or in the reckoning one of them would have to die.
But how to trace him in this ragged territory covering a great and broken area—a territory which God had seemed to build, as a haven and a hiding place for men who sought concealment? Grant would in all likelihood see him first and—he entertained no illusions as to the result—the deserter would kill him on sight. On the other hand, it would do Spurrier no good to kill Grant. If Grant were to serve him it must be with a confession wrung from living lips, and on oath.
Of course, too, the years would have changed Grant so that if they came face to face he would probably fail to recognize the man he had known only in khaki.
The scarred chin? A beard would obliterate that. The stature? Added weight or lost weight would make it seem another man’s.
By processes of elimination Spurrier culled over the possibilities until at length his glance brightened.
In one particular Private Grant could scarcely disguise himself. His eyes were in a fashion mismated. One was light gray and one pale blue. Yes, if ever they met he would have his clew in that.
And that memory reminded him that he had recently been impressed to an unusual degree by a pair of eyes. Whose were they? Oh, yes, he remembered now. It was the man at whose house he had met Sam Mosebury—Sim Colby who dwelt over beyond Clubfoot Branch.
But Colby’s eyes had been noticeable by reason of 146 their extraordinary blackness. So that only helped him in so far as it enabled him to eliminate from all the thousands of possible men the one man, Sim Colby.
The afternoon had spent itself toward sunset as he dismounted and stabled his horse, and it was with a face still somberly thoughtful that he fitted his key into the padlock which held his door and entered.
The interior was dusky in contrast with the outer light, but from one window a shaft of golden radiance slanted inward and in it the dust motes danced.