“So you are from Vermont?”
“Yes. Wish I was there now, you bet. It's God's own country.”
“What part of the state do you come from?”
“Central part. Barrettsville.”
The Bad Man started violently, but recovered himself on the instant.
“I suppose you are pretty well acquainted there?” he asked, with studied indifference.
“I ought to be. Lived there most of my life.”
“That's singular. I met a fellow from Vermont just the other day, from Barrettsville, too.”
“Lots of our folks have come West. They're scattered all over out here. Some of 'em are doing mighty well, too.”
“You didn't happen to know the Thomases, did you?”—with elaborate carelessness. “Which?”