“Born in Australia, eh?” Eden suggested.
“Who—me?” Mr. Cherry shook his head. “Born in South Africa—English descent. Been all up and down the Congo an’Zambesi—all through British Central Africa.”
“How in the world did you get to Australia?” Eden wondered.
“Oh, I don’t know, boy. I was filibusterin’down along the South American continent fer a while, an’then I drifted into a Mexican campaign. Seems like there was somethin’I wanted in Australia—anyhow, I got there. Jest the way I got here. It was over yonder, an’I went.”
Eden shook his head. “Ye gods, I’ll bet you’ve seen a lot!”
“I guess I have, boy. Doctor over in Redlands was tellin’me t’other day—you need spectacles, he says.’Hell, Doc,’I says,’what fer? I’ve seen everything,’I says, and I come away.”
Silence fell. Bob Eden wasn’t exactly sure how to go about this business; he wished he had Chan at his elbow. But his duty was clear.
“You—er—you’ve been here for three or four days, you say?”
“’Bout that, I reckon.”
“Do you happen to recall where you were last Wednesday night?”
The old man’s eyes were keen enough as he glanced sharply at the boy. “What if I do?”
“I was only going to say that if you don’t, I can refresh your memory. You were at Madden’s ranch house, over near Eldorado.”
Slowly Mr. Cherry removed his slouch hat. With gnarled
