Duke turned and went slowly down the hill toward Sleed’s cabin. A gray burro crossed into the moonlight; Duke’s burro. It was half-packed and dragging a blanket. The pack-sacks were still intact, half-filled with food, and a small keg of water was tied between the saddle-posts. Luck had made good as far as she was able.
Duke caught the animal and led it down the hill behind him. He did not know where he was going now. Near the corner of Sleed’s home he stopped. Someone was talking, and Duke recognized Mica Cates’s voice. Duke edged in closer.
Luck was sitting on the rough steps, with her head buried in her hands, while Mica Cates and another man stood near her.
“It shore was hard luck,” said Mica softly, “but I knowed somethin’ was due to happen.”
“But why?” sobbed Luck. “Why did that man do it?”
“Crazy,” grunted Mica.
“He called him Martin. My daddy’s name was Sleed.”
“He wa’n’t responsible, Luck,” said the other man. “He was jist plumb crazy, thasall.”
“Don’t yuh worry,” soothed Cates. “Calico’ll take care of yuh. Why, yo’re rich, Luck. Everythin’ yore dad had belongs to you. You can git eddicated and have silk dresses, and—” Mica Cates seemed to expand—“and you won’t have t’ live in Calico.”
“What become of that other feller?” queried the other man. “I reckon we plum forgot him. Sleed wanted him especially. I wonder if he wasn’t crazy, too?”