“Now what’s the trouble, my boy?” he asked.
Dick stood awkwardly, cap in hand, a little confused, a little doubtful whether, after all, it would be good policy to ask the question now uppermost in his mind. Wandley seemed to sense the young man’s difficulty. He patted Dick’s arm.
“Don’t be afraid to speak up, if it is anything of importance,” he said reassuringly. “You can trust me absolutely.”
Dick smiled across at the grizzled, earnest face.
“All right, Mr. Wandley, there is something I want to know.”
“What is it?”
“Did you see Murky Nichols here an hour or two ago, when he arrived here at the post?”
“Yes,” Wandley unhesitatingly replied. “He rode in here like a dozen furies shortly after one o’clock. But he’s gone now.”
“So he’s really gone?” Dick breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yes,” answered the free trader, wondering what his young interrogator was driving at.