“Did you tell him why?” Faye asked jealously.

“Of course not. Do you think I would tell him when I won’t tell you? Don’t be silly, darling. You’re such a funny little girl.”

Faye smiled and snuggled contentedly down in her chair.

Kate’s face was in repose, but she was remembering every word of that interview. As a matter of fact, she rather liked the sheriff. He was direct.

[3]

He had closed the door of her room, glanced around with the quick recording eye of a good policeman—no photographs, none of the personal articles which identify, nothing but clothes and shoes.

He sat down on her little cane rocking chair and his buttocks hung over on each side. His fingers got together in conference, talking to one another like ants. He spoke in an unemotional tone, almost as though he weren’t much interested in what he was saying. Maybe that was what impressed her.

At first she put on her slightly stupid demure look, but after a few of his words she gave that up and bored into him with her eyes, trying to read his thoughts. He neither looked in her eyes nor avoided them. But she was aware that he was inspecting her as she inspected him. She felt his glance go over the scar on her forehead almost as though he had touched it.

“I don’t want to make a record,” he said quietly. “I’ve held office a long time. About one more term will be enough. You know, young woman, if this were fifteen years back I’d do some checking, and I guess I’d find something pretty nasty.” He waited for some reaction from her but she did not protest. He nodded his head slowly. “I don’t want to know,” he said. “I want peace in this county, and I mean all kinds of peace, and that means people getting to sleep at night. Now I haven’t met your husband,” he said, and she knew he noticed the slight movement of her tightening muscles. “I hear he’s a very nice man. I hear also that he’s pretty hard hit.” He looked into her eyes for a moment. “Don’t you want to know how bad you shot him?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Well, he’s going to get well—smashed his shoulder, but he’s going to get well. That Chink is taking pretty good care of him. Course I don’t think he’ll lift anything with his left arm for quite a spell. A forty-four tears hell out of a man. If the Chink hadn’t come back he’d of bled to death, and you’d be staying with me in the jail.”

Kate was holding her breath, listening for any hint of what was coming and not hearing any hints.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

The sheriff’s eyes became alert. “Now that’s the first time you’ve made a mistake,” he said. “You’re not sorry. I knew somebody like you once—hung him twelve years ago in front of the county jail. We used to do that here.”