"I'd give a good bit," Bassett said, watching him, "to know what made

you run last night. You were safe where you were."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Dick said drearily. "I

didn't run from them. I ran to get away from something." He turned away

irritably. "You wouldn't understand. Say I was drunk. I was, for that

matter. I'm not over it yet."

Bassett watched him.

"I see," he said quietly. "It was last night, was it, that this thing

happened?"

"You know it, don't you?"

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"And, after it happened, do you remember what followed?"

"I've been riding all night. I didn't care what happened. I knew I'd run

into a whale of a blizzard, but I--"

He stopped and stared outside, to where the horses grazed in the upland

meadow, knee deep in mountain flowers. Bassett, watching him, saw the

incredulity in his eyes, and spoke very gently.

"My dear fellow," he said, "you are right. Try to understand what I am

saying, and take it easy. You rode into a blizzard, right enough. But

that was not last night. It was ten years ago."




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