Crawford had been trudging along with head bent, as if brooding over the loss of his faithful animal and the mystery of that unexpected shot, but when he looked up at length and saw Stone, he hastened his steps and called after him.
His genial greeting was borne to Floyd’s ears.
“Hello, Jimmy!” Crawford shouted. “How’s the boy this morning?”
There was nothing for Stone to do but to halt and turn. He nodded curtly, however, and when they walked on together, it was evident that Crawford was doing all the talking.
“That’s a queer deal,” thought Floyd, with a puzzled, apprehensive look on his face. “If Stone isn’t touched in the head, I’ll miss my guess, but I can’t imagine what the cause of it is. They’ve been pals for years, and have gone through thick and thin together. Their friendship has been the talk of this mining country for I don’t know how long, and Crawford seems to be as fond of his partner as ever, in spite of all the rebuffs he has given him lately. I’m afraid I’ve made a big mistake and been altogether too easy on Stone. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to Crawford, but it didn’t seem right to make the other suffer for that insane act.”
He went about his duties in an absent-minded way, however, and had done a great deal of thinking before he encountered Crawford that afternoon, as he was making his rounds. The two men greeted each other cordially, and after Floyd had looked about to see that they were unobserved he said quickly:
“I’ll walk along for a short distance with you, if I may, Mr. Crawford. I find myself in a very difficult position, and what I’ve decided to say seems like a very serious breach of confidence. I feel that I must say it, though, because otherwise the responsibility would be too heavy for me to bear.”
Crawford looked at him keenly.
“Is it about Jimmy Stone?” he asked.