“Not one,” replied Duane, sadly.
“That's tough. I'm glad to be able to tell you that up to just lately your mother, sister, uncle—all your folks, I believe—were well. I've kept posted. But haven't heard lately.”
Duane averted his face a moment, hesitated till the swelling left his throat, and then said, “It's worth what I went through to-day to hear that.”
“I can imagine how you feel about it. When I was in the war—but let's get down to the business of this meeting.”
He pulled his chair close to Duane's.
“You've had word more than once in the last two years that I wanted to see you?”
“Three times, I remember,” replied Duane.
“Why didn't you hunt me up?”
“I supposed you imagined me one of those gun-fighters who couldn't take a dare and expected me to ride up to your camp and be arrested.”
“That was natural, I suppose,” went on MacNelly. “You didn't know me, otherwise you would have come. I've been a long time getting to you. But the nature of my job, as far as you're concerned, made me cautious. Duane, you're aware of the hard name you bear all over the Southwest?”