The question was abrupt. It had the effect of bringing the rancher back to his seat with a drunken lurch.
"Eh?" he queried, blinking nervously.
"What did he come for?" Jacky persisted.
The girl could be relentless even with her uncle.
"Lablache—oh—er—talk bus—bus'ness, child—bus'ness," and he attempted to get up from his chair again.
But Jacky would not let him go.
"Wait a moment, uncle dear, I want to talk to you. I sha'n't keep you long." The old man looked anywhere but at his companion. A cold sweat was on his forehead, and his cheek twitched painfully under the steady gaze of the girl's somber eyes. "I don't often get a chance of talking to you now," she went on, with a slight touch of bitterness. "I just want to talk about that skunk, Lablache. I guess he didn't pass the evening talking of Retief—and what he intends to do towards his capture? Say, uncle, what was it about?"
The old man grasped at the suggestion.
"Yes—yes, child. It was Retief."
He kept his eyes averted. The girl was not deceived.