"Certainly," repeated Mary. "I've only been in this part of the country for a short time. I really know almost nothing about the—the legends."
"Legends?" said the boy, and laughed with a voice of such rich, light music that it took the breath from Mary. "Legend? Say, lady, if Red Pierre is just a legend the Civil War ain't no more'n a fable. Legend? You go anywhere on the range an' get 'em talking about that legend, and they'll make you think it's an honest-to-goodness fact, and no mistake."
Mary queried earnestly: "Tell me about Red Pierre. It's almost as hard to learn anything of him as it is to find out anything about McGurk."
"What you doing?" asked the boy, keen with suspicion. "Making a study of them two for a book?"
He wiped a damp forehead.
"Take it from me, lady, it ain't healthy to join up them two even in talk!"
"Is there any harm in words?"
The boy was so upset for some unknown reason that he rose and paced up and down the room in a nervous tremor.
"Lots of harm in fool words."
He sat down again, and seemed a little anxious to explain his unusual conduct.