Finally it was finished to his satisfaction, and after folding it roughly he placed it in the inside pocket of his vest. The paper he had propped against the book went into a hip pocket, and he got up from the table, a half-smile on his thin lips.
Nan was limping around the table in the kitchen, while Rex looked ruefully at his swollen feet.
‘I’ll have some hot water for you in a few minutes, honey,’ said Nan.
Rex looked up quickly at Hashknife. It was the first time she had ever called him by that title. The gray eyes shifted to Nan and back to Rex. Neither of them had told Hashknife just why the masked man had taken them out of the cañon. Perhaps it was a subject that neither of them cared to discuss with a third party.
Came the sound of running horses, the thump of footsteps on the rickety porch, and Sleepy came stomping through the living-room, while behind him came Lem Sheeley. At sight of Nan, Sleepy let out a joyful yelp and grabbed Hashknife by the shoulders.
‘Where didja find ’em?’ he yelled. ‘My Gawd, this is great, ain’t it? Where yuh been? Look at the kid’s feet, will yuh? Why don’t somebody say somethin’? All dumb, are yuh?’
‘Are yuh run down?’ queried Hashknife mildly.
‘Well—yeah!’ snorted Sleepy. ‘Talk a little.’
Both Sleepy and Lem crowded into the kitchen and humped on their heels against the wall while Hashknife told what he knew and what Nan and Rex had told him. The coffee-pot boiled over before the tale was told, but no one noticed such small details.
‘But what’s it all about?’ complained Lem. ‘There ain’t head nor tail to it. All this crazy man in the cañon and a man with a mask stuff. Sounds kinda looney to me.’