The other shook his head.
“That’s my name,” he said.
“Born name?”
The Wolf’s smile became real.
“Guess I haven’t a born name.”
Fyles’ eyes widened.
“But you must have?”
“No, Sergeant, it’s a fact I haven’t. I haven’t a notion of my father or mother. Nor has anybody around me. I bin ‘the Wolf’ all the time, an’ I’ll have to go on being that way.”
There was a shade of regret in the man’s tone. Fyles was swift to appreciate it. It was almost unthinkable to him that anyone could go through life without a name, and with no knowledge of his origin.
“I came along down on this trip thinking you to be—belonging Pideau Estevan in some way.”