"Who—Dave?"
She and her father and Bob had more than once met as a committee of three to discuss the interests of Sanders both before and since his release. The week after he left Cañon City letters of thanks had reached both Hart and Crawford, but these had given no address. Their letters to him had remained unanswered nor had a detective agency been able to find him.
"Yes, ma'am, Dave! He's right here in town. Met him half an hour ago."
"I'm glad. How does he look?"
"He's grown older, a heap older. And he's different. You know what an easy-goin' kid he was, always friendly and happy as a half-grown pup. Well, he ain't thataway now. Looks like he never would laugh again real cheerful. I don't reckon he ever will. He's done got the prison brand on him for good. I couldn't see my old Dave in him a-tall. He's hard as nails—and bitter."
The brown eyes softened. "He would be, of course. How could he help it?"
"And he kinda holds you off. He's been hurt bad and ain't takin' no chances whatever, don't you reckon?"
"Do you mean he's broken?"
"Not a bit. He's strong, and he looks at you straight and hard. But they've crushed all the kid outa him. He was a mighty nice boy, Dave was. I hate to lose him."
"When can I see him?" she asked.