"Give dad your word to come back and he'll let you go. He says you're
the kind that will keep your word. You see, he found you with a
cross in your hand."

And Jack's lips curled again.

It was all absurd, too impossible to be real. The only real things
were the body of yellow-haired Mary Brown, under the tumbled rocks and
dirt of the landslide, and the body of Martin Ryder waiting to be
placed in that corner plot where the grass grew quicker than all other
grass in the spring of the year.

However, having fallen among madmen, he must use cunning to get away
before the outlaw and his men came back from wherever they had gone.
Otherwise there would be more bloodshed, more play of guns and hum
of lead.

"Tell me of Hal," he said, and dropped his elbows on his knees as if
he accepted his fate.

"Don't know you well enough to talk of Hal."

"I'm sorry."

The boy made a little gesture of apology.

"I guess that was a mean thing to say. Sure I'll tell you about
Hal--if I can."

"Tell me anything you can," said Pierre gently, "because I've got to