“If there’s a mystery concerning you, Hal, time will clear it up,” she said. “But the man—was he a Thug?”
“No. His name was Dan Darrell. Deadly Dan he was called. I have told you about how he acted on the Rosebud?”
“Oh, yes. And so you met at last? Fate brought you together!”
“Yes, it must have been fate; but I did not think so when I hanged him. He said that his secret concerned me; he said it with his last breath, Myra. I believe him. Men like Dan Darrell don’t die with lies on their lips.”
For several minutes the pair stood face to face, speechless but thoughtful.
“I would give my right arm if Rosebud Dan was alive,” cried the boy judge, starting forward. “His stubbornness hung him, more than my hatred or my revenge. Look at the legacy he left behind—a tortured, doubting mind. Girl—girl, you cannot know how I have suffered since I left that wretch and his secret hanging together.”
“Maybe, Hal—”
Myra, the waif, hesitated.
“Go on.”
“Once you hung a foe, but the neck was not broken, and he escaped. Are you certain that Deadly Dan is dead?”