"I met him several times. He seems a taciturn sort of man, sullen, bad tempered—not one of my sort," said Glen.
"I fancy he's had a roughish time at Mintaro," Bill surmised, "but he must have saved money. Bellshaw wouldn't lend it him in hundreds."
"He was a pal of Calder's; about the only one he had," Jim remarked.
"I never knew that," said Bill.
"They used to meet on the track, and talk and smoke. He bought Calder drink at times," explained Jim.
"Birds of a feather," said Glen.
"He made no fuss about Calder being shot," Bill commented.
"It was no use. He's dead and gone, and there's no proof that he was shot; he probably did it himself as you have said," decided Glen.
The woman stirred, murmuring some words in her sleep; with a start she sat up, stared at the group, stretched out her arms, and in a pleading voice uttered the one word, "Come."