Two nights after this Promotheus came up to our camp again. He said he had had several talks with her, and that she remembered the names and places, all right, but insisted that Carmichael was dead. She said he often came to her in her dreams; but that she knew he had died long ago.
“Does she ever sing?” asked the Friar.
“Never,” sez The. “She don’t even talk much. She has some sort of a pain in her head, and sometimes she seems to wander; but at other times she is perfectly clear.”
“Is Ty Jones ever mean to her?” asked the Friar.
“Never,” sez The. “Ty ain’t mean to those about him. He has his own idees—he likes to have his men and dogs and hosses all fierce and nervy—but he’s not mean to ’em. And all the boys treat her respectful, too. Fact is, I don’t see where we got any grounds to take her away.”
“But she does not care for him,” sez the Friar; “she could not care for him! He must have used trick or force to bring her here; and you must find out the truth about it. It all depends on you, now.”
“I’m doin’ all I can, Friar,” sez The; “but it’s a hard tangle to see through.”
When he left to go back, me an’ the Friar and Horace went with him. “Supposin’ they should see you comin’ back?” sez the Friar.
“Well,” sez The, “Ty don’t keep his men in prison, and I’d tell ’em I was up takin’ a little air after bein’ shut away from it so long.”
“Supposin’ they got suspicious an’ follered ya?” asked the Friar.