"I go when I'm damned pleased ter go!" he flung out derisively, "and I
come the same way, young feller. There's mail for yo' in the sack and--a
telegram." White paused by the door a moment while Truedale picked the
yellow envelope from the bag and tore it open.
"Your uncle died suddenly on the 16th. Come at once. Vitally
important. McPHERSON."
For a moment both men forgot the thing that had driven them wide apart.
"Bad news?" asked the sheriff.
Something was happening to Truedale--he felt as if the effect of some
narcotic were losing its power; the fevered unreality was giving place
to sensation but the brain was recording it dully.
"What date is this?" he asked, dazed.
"Twenty-fifth," Jim replied as he moved out of the door.
"When can I get a train from the station?"
"There's one as leaves anywhere 'twixt nine and ten ter-night."
"That gives me time to pack. See here, White, while it isn't any of your
business, I want to explain a thing or two--before I go. I'll be back as
soon as I can--in a week or ten days at furthest. When I return I intend
to stay on, probably for the rest of my life."
White still held Truedale by the cold, steely gleam of his eyes which
was driving lucidity home to the dulled brain. By a power as unyielding
as death Jim was destroying the screen Truedale had managed to raise
against the homely codes of life and was leaving his guest naked and
exposed.
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