Kansas City
where he lived, and went to law and made me his son, because he'd lost a
boy about my age. And so that's how we have different names, he telling
me I'd ought to keep mine instead of taking his."

She was excited by the tale, which he had told almost in one breath, and
now she was eager to question, looking over to see if her father would
not also be interested; but the latter gave no sign.

"You poor little boy, among those wretched Indians! But why were your
father and mother killed? Did the Indians do it?"

"No, not Indians that did it--and I never did know why they killed
them--they that _did_ do it."

"But how queer! Don't you know who it was?"

Before answering, he paused to take one of the long revolvers from its
holster, laying it across his lap, his right hand still grasping it.

"It was tiring my leg where it was," he explained. "I'll just rest
myself by holding it here. I've practised a good smart bit with these
pistols against the time when I'd meet some of them that did it--that
killed my father and mother and lots of others, and little children,
too."

"How terrible! And it wasn't Indians?"

"No--I _told_ you that already--it wasn't Indians."

"Don't you know who it was?"

"Oh, yes, I know all of them I want to know. The fact is, up there at
Cedar City I met some people that got confidential with me one day, and
told me a lot of their names. There was Mr. Barney Carter and Mr. Sam
Woods, and they talked right freely about some folks. I found out what I
was wanting to know, being that they were drinking men."

He had moved slightly as he spoke and she glanced at the revolver still
held along his knee.

"Isn't that dangerous--seems to me it's pointed almost toward father."

"Oh, not a bit dangerous, and it rests me to hold it there. You see it
was hereabouts this thing happened. In fact, I came down here looking
for a big man, and a little girl that I remembered, whose father and
mother were killed at the same time mine was. This little girl was about
three or four, I reckon, and she was taken by one of the murderers. He
seemed like an awful big man to me. By the way, that's mean whiskey your
Bishop sells on the sly up at Cedar City. Why, it's worse than Taos
lightning. Well, this Barney Carter and Mr. Sam Woods, they would drink
it all right, but they said one drink made a man ugly and two made him
so downright bad that he'd just as lief tear his wife's best bonnet to
pieces as n