“We’re going to have another dance Friday night,” continued Mrs. Meecham. “You ought to come, Mr. Davidson. I hear that you are quite a dancer. I sure do love a good dance. Sam is a good dancer. He had the Marlin school-teacher down here to the last dance. He’s kinda crazy about her.” “Sam Leach?” asked Brick. “Yes. Sam’s my brother. He’s over here quite a lot.” “Oh, yeah.” Brick crossed his knees and leaned back in his chair. “Your brother, eh? I didn’t know that.” “Say, you go ahead and smoke, if you want to. Charley and Sam smoke all the time, and I don’t mind it. Keeps out moths.” Brick nodded and began rolling a cigaret. “You been livin’ here long?” he asked. “About a year—in this house. We’ve been in Silverton for about two years.” “Like it here?” “Not so very. Still, it’s all right. Silverton folks are real sociable, what there is of them. Charley’s got a good job and I ain’t got no kick comin’.” “You came here from the East, didn’t yuh, Mrs. Meecham?” “I should say not! My folks came from Ohio, but I was born up in the Okanagan country. I never been East. In fact, I ain’t never had no hankerin’ for the East. We came here from Idaho. That’s where me and Charley were married. I liked it up there. It was more like home. Of course we knew everybody, and that helps a lot.” “Yeah, it sure helps,” agreed Brick, inhaling deeply. “Is Sam from up in that country?” “Oh, sure. He came down here a couple of years before we did. You know Hank Stagg, don’tcha? Sure, you do. Hank used to be up there. I never knew him, but Sam did. Hank used to drive a stage up there. Him and Baldy Malloy worked for the same outfit. Wasn’t it too bad about Baldy’s little kid. Gee whillikens, that was awful! Just think of that poor little tyke getting lost like that. And Baldy getting killed. I wonder if he went to sleep and ran off the grade.” “I think so,” said Brick slowly. “Yeah, I don’t think he knew when he went off.” “That must have been it. Baldy was a good driver, too. You and Hank are rivals for the sheriff’s office, ain’tcha? Well, that don’t have to make enemies out of folks. Hank is a good scout.” “Well,” grinned Brick, “I ain’t sore at anybody.” “Sure you ain’t. I’ve always heard that you was good-natured.” The front door opened and Mrs. Meecham got to her feet. “That’s Charley. Hoo-hoo, Charley! C’mon in; I’ve got company.” Meecham came to the doorway and squinted at Brick. He was a fleshy, black-haired man of about thirty-five, quietly dressed. His eyes were deep-set, cheeks florid and his mouth full-lipped. He smiled and came into the room. “Hello, Davidson,” Meecham held out his hand to Brick. “How are you?” Brick shook hands with him and they both sat down. “I’ve been doing a little work,” explained Meecham. Brick smiled and rolled a fresh cigaret. “I wanted to ask you a few questions,” stated Brick slowly. “Did you get a good look at the man who held you up in the bank?”