“I want to know about the Bald Knob raid,” she hurried on. “Maybe I oughtn’t to come to you. I don’t know. But I’ve got to know the truth of what happened that night.”
“Why don’t you go to your husband, then?” he demanded. “Mac knows as much about it as I do.”
“I went to him. He wouldn’t tell me; said it wouldn’t be right to tell anything he knew.”
“That so?” From his slitted eyelids he watched her closely, not at all certain of what was her game. “Then if it wouldn’t be right for Mac to tell you, it wouldn’t be right for me, would it?” The strong white teeth in his coffee-brown face flashed in a mocking grin.
“That was before the trial. Mr. Yerby said he wouldn’t talk then because you had agreed not to.”
“Oh! So you’ve been to Yerby?”
“Yes. He couldn’t tell me what I want to know.”
“And what is it you want to know particularly?”
“You know what Mr. Silcott testified about—about where the shooting started from and about where the shot came from that killed Mr. Gilroy. I want you to tell me that it wasn’t Rowan fired those shots.”
He considered her a moment warily, his mind loaded with suspicions. Was this a frame-up of some sort? Was she trying to trap him into admissions that would work against him later?