Better that he should learn
the tale now and form his prejudices in favor of Gregg. "I'll tell you the
whole story," he began.
But the other shrugged his shoulders.
"You leave the story be," he said, and there was something in the quiet
firmness of his manner which made it impossible for Vic to continue.
"You're here and you're hurt and you need a pile of rest. That's about
enough story for me."
Vic put himself swiftly in the place of the other. Suppose that he and
Betty Neal should have a cabin off in the mountains like this, how would
they receive a wounded fugitive from justice? As unquestioningly as this?
In a surge of gratitude he looked mistily towards his host.
"Stranger," he said, "you're white. Damned white. That's all. My name's Vic
Gregg and I come from--"
"Thanks," cut in the other. "I'm glad to know your name but in case anybody
might be askin' me I wouldn't care to know where you come from." He smiled.
"I'm Dan Barry."
It had to be a left-handed shake on the part of Vic, a thing of which he
often thought in the days that followed, but now he sent his memory
hunting.
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