Down in New Mexico."
"Name?" asked Thornton bluntly.
"His name doesn't matter, I guess. He had three during the time that I
knew him, and I suppose he's had half a dozen since."
"Before you go any further," interrupted Thornton, "tell me why you came
to me at all?"
"Banker Templeton of Dry Town is a friend of mine. We went to school
together. He's the man who led me to believe, to hope," he added softly,
"that the man I want is working this country now. I told Templeton that
I wanted to make a little visit to this neck of the woods. And he gave
me your name."
"I see. Now, about your man?"
"I'm going to ask you a string of questions, Thornton. We haven't over
much time and any way there wouldn't be any use now in my stopping to
explain just what I'm driving at and why I want to know this and that.
If you'll just answer what I ask..."
"Fire away."
For a little they smoked on in silence, Two-Hand Billy Comstock's
expression suggesting that he was planning precisely the course his
inquiries were to take before beginning.
"Let's start in this way!" he said at last. "What men around here do you
know real well, well enough to call friends?"
"I've been here only a year," Thornton told him. "I don't know many men
here real well.
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