For all his determination to believe this, Truedale had his
moments of sickening doubt. The simple statement in White's letter,
burned, as time went on, into his very soul.
But, whatever came--whatever there was to know--he meant to go at once
to headquarters. He would remain, too, until Peter Greyson was sober
enough to state facts. He recalled clearly Jim's estimate of Greyson and
his dual nature depending so largely upon the effect of the mountain
whisky.
It was late November when Truedale set forth. No one made any objection
to his going now. Things were running smoothly and if he had to go at
all to straighten out any loose ends, he had better go at once.
To Lynda the journey seemed simple enough. Truedale had left, among
other belongings, his manuscript and books. Naturally he would not trust
them to another's careless handling.
At Washington, Truedale bought a rough tramping rig and continued his
journey with genuine enjoyment of the adventure. Now that he was nearing
the scene of his past experience he could better understand the delay.
Things moved so slowly among the hills and naturally Nella-Rose,
trusting and fond, was part of the sluggish life. How she would show her
small, white teeth when, smiling in his arms, she told him all about it!
It would not take long to make her forget the weary time of absence and
White's misconception.
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