THE BLACK FOX SKIN
A rush of tears filled her red-brown eyes.
"Val Black has one like that. I made it for him myself long ago."
"And he has a rifle of some English make," added November.
Mrs. Rone started. "So he has, but I never remembered that till this minute!" She looked back into Joe's grey eyes with indignation. "And he smokes 'Nugget' all right, too. I know it. All the same, it is n't Val!" The last words were more than an appeal; they were a statement of faith.
"It's queer them bits of worsted on the doornails," observed Joe judicially.
Her colour flamed for a moment. "Why queer? He's been here to see m― us more'n once this time back; the nails might have caught his necker any day," she retorted.
"It's just possible, " agreed November in an unconvinced voice.
"It can't be Val!" repeated Mrs. Rone steadily.
We walked away, leaving her standing in the doorway looking after us. When we were out of sight and of earshot I turned to November.
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