"
Lone straightened in the saddle. "You better come clean, Swan, and tell
the whole thing. What was it? Don't talk in circles. What words did you
feel--in your brain?" In spite of himself, Lone felt as he had when the
girl had talked to him and called him Charlie.
Swan closed the gate behind him with steady hands. His lips were pressed
firmly together, as if he had definitely made up his mind to something.
Lone was impressed somehow with Swan's perfect control of his speech,
his thoughts, his actions. But he was puzzled rather than anything else,
and when Swan turned, facing him, Lone's bewilderment did not lessen.
"I'll tell you. It's when I'm sitting down to eat my supper. I'm just
reaching out my hand like this, to get my coffee. And something says in
my head, 'It's a lie. I don't ride backwards. Go look at my saddle.
There's blood----' And that's all. It's like the words go far away so I
can't hear any more. So I eat my supper, and then I get the lantern and
I go look. You come with me, Lone. I'll show you."
Without a word Lone dismounted and followed Swan into a small shed
beside the stable, where a worn stock saddle hung suspended from a
crosspiece, a rawhide string looped over the horn.
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