‘Just what are you doin’ in this country?’ asked Hashknife.
‘Well—’ Rex rubbed the palm of his right hand along his jaw, his eyes half-shut, as he tried to concentrate on Hashknife’s question.
‘Well, I don’t exactly know,’ he confessed. ‘I’m sure I did not come here to get the things I have already received. I—I think I came out of curiosity.’
‘Curiosity, eh? And how did you happen to pick on this part of the country?’
‘It was a check on the Mesa City Bank, Mr. Hartley; a check which was sent to my mother. After she died I found the check.’
‘A check sent from here to your mother, eh? Whose name was on that check?’
‘I don’t know. Queer, isn’t it? The writing was so blurred, don’t you see? Or perhaps the signature was not well written.’
He grinned at Hashknife foolishly. ‘I feel so free of all pain,’ he said slowly. ‘Even my head does not pain me now. It is the first time since I woke up at the Lane residence that my head has not hurt me.’
‘You’re drunk,’ said Hashknife shortly. A horse and buggy were coming down the street, and turned in at the front of the saloon.
It was Red Eller and the doctor.