“Good evening,” she answered faintly.
He cleared his throat, embarrassed.
“Darned if I didn't play a fool game today—hello, Dan.”
The other nodded.
“Rode in a plumb circle and come back where I started.” He laughed, and the laughter broke off a little shortly. He stepped to the wall and hung up his bridle on its peg, which is the immemorial manner of asking hospitality in the mountain-desert. “Hope I ain't puttin' you out, Kate. I see you got company.”
She started, recalled from her thoughts.
“Excuse me, Vic. Vic Gregg, Buck Daniels, Lee Haines.”
They shook hands, and Vic detained Haines a moment.
“Seems to me I've heard of you, Haines.”
“Maybe.”
Gregg looked at the big man narrowly, and then swung back towards Dan. He knew many things, now. Lee Haines—yes, that was the name. One of the crew who followed Jim Silent; and Dan Barry? What a fool he had been not to remember! It was Dan Barry who had gone on the trail of Silent's gang and hounded it to death; Lee Haines alone had been spared. Yes, half a dozen years before the mountain-folk had heard that story, a wild and improbable one. It fitted in with what Pete Glass had told him of the shooting of Harry Fisher; it explained a great deal which had mystified
