"What then?"
"Nuthin' much, till yisterday. I got tergether some cows, herded down river a ways, out o' sight in the bluffs, but hev hed ter keep mighty quiet ter save my hair. Them Cheyennes are sure pisen this year, an' raisin' Cain. I never see 'em so rambunctious afore. But I hung on yere, hidin' out, cause I didn't hev nowhar else ter go. An' yisterday, just ahead o' the blizzard, a Kiowa buck drifted in yere. Slipped down the bluff, an' caught me 'fore ever I saw him. Never laid eyes on the red afore but he wus friendly 'nough, natch'ally mistakin' me fer one o' Le Fevre's herders. His name wus Black Smoke, an' he could n't talk no English worth mentionin', but we made out to understan' each other in Mex. He wus too darn hungry and tired to talk much anyhow. But I got what I wanted to know out o' him."
"Well, go on, Hughes; you are making a long story out of it."
"The rest is short 'nough. It seems he an' ol' Koleta, an' a young Cheyenne buck, had been hangin' 'round across the river from Dodge fer quite a while waitin' fer Le Fevre to pull off some sorter stunt. Maybe I did n't get just the straight o' it, but anyhow they held up a paymaster, er something like that, fer a big boodle. They expected to do it quiet like, hold the off'cer a day er so out in the desert, an' then turn him loose to howl. But them plans did n't just exactly work. The fellow's daughter was with him, when the pinch was made, an' they hed to take her 'long too. Then the officer man got ugly, an' had to be shot, an' Le Fevre quarrelled with the other white man in the outfit, an' killed him. That left the gal on their hands, an' them all in a hell of a fix if they wus ever caught. The young Injuns wanted to kill the gal too, an' shet her mouth, but somehow Le Fevre an' Koleta would n't hear to it--said she 'd be worth more alive than dead, an' that they could hide her whar she 'd never be heard of ag'in unless her friends put up money to buy her back."
Hamlin was leaning forward, watching the speaker intently, and it seemed to him his heart had stopped beating. This story had the semblance of truth; it was the truth. So Dupont and Le Fevre were one and the same. He could believe this now, could perceive the resemblance, although the man had grown older, taken on flesh, and disguised himself wonderfully by growing that black beard. Yet, at the moment, he scarcely considered the man at all; his whole interest concentrated on the fate of the unfortunate girl.