"Alone?"
Manning had sunk deeper and deeper into his seat. His face was concealed by the straggling grey beard, but beneath his shaggy brows his old eyes were blazing.
"Yes, she was alone," he said.
The cigar had gone dead in Hawkins's lips, and he lit it jerkily. The blaze of the match illumined a face that was not pleasant to look upon.
"And Craig himself," he suggested, "where is he?"
"He's back at the ranch by this time. He went through town yesterday, just before I left, with a man who wants to buy."
The rancher looked at the other meaningly.
"Back at the ranch—with the Indian?"
Equally directly Manning returned the look.
"Evidently you didn't hear all the story," he said. "The Indian is not there."