Nothing was definite in the mind of Gregg. The stories consisted of patched
details, heard here and there at third or fourth hand, but he remembered
one epic incident in which Barry had ridden, so rumor told, into the very
heart of Elkhead, taken from the jail this very man, this Lee Haines, and
carried him through the cordon of every armed man in Elkhead. And there was
another picture, dimmer still, which an eye witness had painted: of how, at
an appointed hour, Barry met Jim Silent and killed him.
Out of these thoughts he glanced again at the man in the shadow, half
expecting to find his host swollen to giant size. Instead, he found the
same meager form, the same old suggestion of youth which would not age, the
same pale hands, of almost feminine litheness. Lee Haines talked on--about
a porphyry dyke somewhere to the north--a ledge to be found in the space of
ten thousand square miles--a list of vague clues--an appeal for Barry to
help them find it--and Barry was held listening though ever seeming to
drift, or about to drift, towards the door.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149