I wondered what mystification had given rise to these absurd reports,
but there was nothing to be gained by pursuing them. The killing of the
Chinaman might have been something to my hand, but if Doddridge Knapp
had such a perfect alibi it was a waste of time to look into it.

"And is this all you know?" I asked in disappointment.

Mother Borton tried to remember some other point.

"I don't see how it's going to keep a knife from between my ribs," I
complained.

"You keep out of the way of Tom Terrill and his hounds, and you'll be
all right, I reckon."

"Am I supposed to be the head man in this business?"

"Yes."

"Who are my men?"

"There's Wilson and Fitzhugh and Porter and Brown," and she named ten
or a dozen more.

"And what is Dicky?"

"It's a smart man as can put his finger on Dicky Nahl," said Mother
Borton spitefully.

"Nahl is his name?"