"The man lives there. And the woman."
"Tell me the man's name."
She breathed, after a hesitation that was full of troubled apprehension:
"Bough."
A red flush mounted in his thin cheek, and he drew his breath in sharply. He asked:
"Does anyone else live in the house?"
She reflected with a knitted brow. He helped her.
"I do not mean the travellers—the men and women who come driving up in Cape-carts and transport-waggons, and drive away again, but someone who lives with Bough and the woman. She has been at the tavern a long, long time, though she is so young and so little. Try to remember her name."
The knitted brow relaxed, and the beautiful dim eyes had almost a smile in them.
"It is 'the Kid.'"