grew quicker there than any other place, after the snow went."
"A damned good reason," said Garry Patterson. As the idea stuck more deeply into his imagination he smashed his fist down on the table so that the crockery on it danced. "A damned good reason, say I!"
"Who's your father?" asked Dick Wilbur, who eyed Pierre more critically but with less enmity than the rest.
"Martin Ryder."
"A ringer!" cried Bud Mansie, and he leaned forward alertly. "You remember what I said, Jim?"
"Shut up. Pierre, talk soft and talk quick. We all know Mart Ryder had only two sons and you're not either of them."
The Northener grew stiff and as his face grew pale the red mark where the stone had struck his forehead stood out like a danger signal.
He said slowly: "I'm his son, but not by the mother of those two."
"Was he married twice?"
Pierre was paler still, and there was an uneasy twitching of his right hand which every man understood.
He barely whispered. "No; damn you!"
But Black Gandil loved evil.
He said, with a marvelously unpleasant smile: "Then she was"
The voice of Dick Wilbur cut in like the snapping of a whip: "Shut up, Gandil, you devil!"
