The old gunsmith took off his glasses and gazed vacantly into space, as if beholding some pleasant vista of almost forgotten years. “Yes,” he murmured, “two old men. Him and me had been in Santa Fe ’bout the same time.” Dan clucked his lips at the memory. “Them was the days; riotin’ ever’ night, hell poppin’ over in the Tonto, Injuns puttin’ on the paint every now and then.” The old man paused abruptly. Then: “Say, Johnny!” he exclaimed. “Come to think on it, your man did say somethin’ puss’nal. Asked me what folks said of old Kent’s daughter.” “What?” Johnny’s exclamation was whipped out with such force as to startle old Dan. Here was that draw again—Molly and the dead man. Every place he turned he came face to face with it. The gunsmith misunderstood the boy’s attitude. “Why, Johnny, they wa’n’t no harm in the question. I told him folks said only good things of Molly Kent. And he didn’t seem to set no great store by my answer. Said he was goin’ over to the Piute Reservation; didn’t say he was, but I knew it because he asked me if he could git to Standing Rock from the North Fork without a-comin’ way back here.” Johnny began to understand that the talk the two men had was of vital importance, even though old Dan saw nothing of value in it. The boy wondered if he should tell the old man of the murder. Another day and he would know of it, anyhow. Better make an ally of the old man and get him to hold his tongue. And then, too, the surprise of telling him now might startle him into recalling some other bit of conversation. “Dan,” he began, “when did you have that talk?” “’Bout six days ago, I reckon.” “You ain’t sure?” “Le’s see—yes, I’m sot on that. ’Twas the first of the month.” The first of the month; this was the sixth. Tony had seen the man on the North Fork five days ago. It fitted in! “He didn’t say who he was goin’ to see over in the Injun country?” “Don’t reckon he did.” “That’s goin’ to be awfully important, Dan, because this man got hisself killed night before last.” “No! Not killed?” “Killed dead. Old Aaron says he killed hisself. It’s a lie. He was murdered. I’m aimin’ to find out who did it. And, Dan, when folks git to talkin’ about it down here, I want you to be dumb. That man got a rotten deal. Ain’t nobody but me goin’ to square it. What do you say?” “I say yes. You ain’t askin’ me nothin’.” He shook his head. “Killed, eh? And him lookin’ to be so handy with a gun. It wa’n’t no fair fight.” “You said somethin’. I know he was on the North Fork. Went to the Rock from there. But there was two days in between. Do you suppose he was on the Reservation all that time? Can’t you remember who he was goin’ to see over there? Was it Ames, the trader, or the agent? Maybe it was old Thunder Bird!” “No, Johnny, he didn’t say. But he did tell me he was comin’ back! Said he’d be here Saturday.”