Twice this man had, she believed, saved her from the mad buffalo. Now, without a word, he closed the door to make his way to the seat before the hearth. Presently he raised a hand to point to the coffee pot.
From all this you will be led to believe that this stranger was none other than the one so well known to many of the inhabitants of the land as “The Voice.” And so he was.
Joyce Mills had been about the world a great deal. She was not easily frightened. The man did not disturb her. Understanding his gesture, she replenished the fire and in due time poured out a cup of black coffee. He drank it scalding hot. Once again he sat as in a trance. Once more he demanded coffee and got it. Then he spoke:
“You find gold.” It was not a question, but a statement. How could she deny it? And yet, how did he know? They had told no one and the discovery was only a few hours old. Without a word, she stared at him.
But more was to come.
“See. See young man, big, strong, brave. Fly red devil bird, fly, that one. See that one drop down, down, down!”
The girl closed her eyes. He was speaking, she knew all too well, of Drew Lane.
“But not dead.” The man’s voice rose to a high pitch. “Not dead, that one.”
“Yes, yes! He is dead!” came her quick reply.
“No!” The man was angry. Half rising from his chair, he fixed her with his eagle eye.