“I washed my clothes,” said the other nervously. “They’re hanging over there in the bush.”
Jim’s eyes followed in the direction of the pointed finger. There was a shirt, undershirt and two socks hanging on a limb. They had obviously been washed, although it was rather a poor job, since there had been no soap and only the cold water of the stream.
“That doesn’t answer the other questions,” said Jim stubbornly. “I think you are hiding for some other reason.”
The man looked at Jim long and searchingly. Apparently he was reassured by the appearance of the boy’s frank face and steady brown eyes.
“I think I’ll tell you the truth,” he said at last. “I think you’ll understand.”
“Go ahead.”
“Look, I’m kind of weak from lack of something to eat. Why don’t we sit down, because this is a long story? And how about pointing that rifle just a little bit in the other direction? It makes me nervous.”
“All right,” agreed Jim, sitting down on a log, “but I’m keeping this gun handy.”
As Jim placed the rifle across his knees, he suddenly realized that he had forgotten to load it. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach and a big lump suddenly came up in his throat, threatening to choke him. He couldn’t very well reach in his pocket, extract a shell, open the breech, and load the gun. Nervous as he was, he knew he would be slow reloading it. He knew how, but had never had much practice and it might take a long time. The other man was too close to permit such a maneuver. There was nothing to do but try not to change expression and stick it out.
“You were right,” said the captive, commencing his story and apparently noticing nothing wrong in Jim’s expression or behavior. “The law is after me. I’m wanted for killing a man.”