“Did he speak to you or did you speak to him before he drew the knife?”
“No,” Murky stated emphatically.
“Very queer the man should attack you without provocation,” mused Rand. “You’re absolutely sure you never saw him before?”
A slow flush mounted to Nichols’ weather-tanned brow and for a split-second his eyes evaded the questioner.
“Hang it, corporal,” he spoke testily, “ain’t I been tellin’ yuh. Don’t even know what he looks like—it all happened so sudden. If he should come walkin’ in here in ten minutes from now I ain’t so sure I’d recognize him. The feller must be crazy.”
“It certainly looks queer!” Rand’s cool, unwavering gaze met that of the prospector. “Usually there’s a motive for an attack of this kind. As a general thing, a man doesn’t attempt to stab another unless he has some real or fancied grievance.”
“He’s crazy, I tell yuh,” persisted Nichols.
Rand turned away.
“I’ll see what I can do. I intend to take the breed in custody. I ought to be able to run him down in a few hours. Then we can question him.”
The corporal turned without a moment’s hesitation and hurried away. He was gone almost before Dick could collect his scattered wits and remark to Sandy: