"’Old man Quinn,’" he finished excitedly. "Why, that is my father, but–Lon Weston–say, what does that mean, Ross?"
CHAPTER XVII
A RANDOM SHOT
For an instant Ross made no reply. He sat with his back to the door and had not heard Leslie enter. Turning slowly he looked up with puzzled eyes.
"Less, there’s something that I’ve not told you before–because–I guess because I’ve thought it wasn’t fair to tell. But after Weston has brought us away off here and dumped us in this wilderness–even if he has done it out of fear of Sandy–well, it seems to me that about now he has forfeited all right to my silence."
Leslie fell back in astonishment, the scraps of the letter still in his hand. "Doc, are you getting luny? What are you talking about?"
Ross laughed ruefully. "Just thinking out loud, that’s all. Now I’ll get right down to business about Weston. You said you knew a fellow in Oklahoma by his name–Lon Weston."
Leslie pursed his lips incredulously. "Yes, but as I said, our Lon Weston had light hair and didn’t murder the King’s English like this man, and he hadn’t a husky voice."
"Just so!" cried Ross triumphantly. "Neither does this Lon Weston murder the English language when he is talking like himself, nor has he a husky voice naturally nor has he dark hair! It’s colored dark–near the roots, as I found out, it’s light."
"Jiminy crickstones!" cried Leslie excitedly. "If that’s true, it’s one on me! Come to think of it, Weston was forever imitating folks, but I never have seen him in such a serious imitation as this. How do you know all about him, anyway?"