"Sally, what do you and Diane know about the goings-on in town yesterday?" I asked.
"Not much. George was like an insane man. I was afraid to go near him. Uncle wore a sardonic smile. I heard him curse George—oh, terribly! I believe he hates George. Same as day before yesterday, there were men riding in and out. But Diane and I heard only a little, and conflicting statements at that. We knew there was fighting. Dick and the servants, the cowboys, all brought rumors. Steele was killed at least ten times and came to life just as many.
"I can't recall, don't want to recall, all we heard. But this morning when I saw the red scarf flying in the wind—well, Russ, I was so glad I could not see through the glass any more. We knew then Steele was all right or you wouldn't have put up the signal."
"Reckon few people in Linrock realize just what did come off," I replied with a grim chuckle.
"Russ, I want you to tell me," said Miss Sampson earnestly.
"What?" I queried sharply.
"About yesterday—what Steele did—what happened."
"Miss Sampson, I could tell you in a few short statements of fact or I could take two hours in the telling. Which do you prefer?"
"I prefer the long telling. I want to know all about him."
"But why, Miss Sampson? Consider. This is hardly a story for a sensitive woman's ears."