"I'd give a good bit," Bassett said, watching him, "to know what made
you run last night. You were safe where you were."
"I don't know what you are talking about," Dick said drearily. "I
didn't run from them. I ran to get away from something." He turned away
irritably. "You wouldn't understand. Say I was drunk. I was, for that
matter. I'm not over it yet."
Bassett watched him.
"I see," he said quietly. "It was last night, was it, that this thing
happened?"
"You know it, don't you?"
"And, after it happened, do you remember what followed?"
"I've been riding all night. I didn't care what happened. I knew I'd run
into a whale of a blizzard, but I--"
He stopped and stared outside, to where the horses grazed in the upland
meadow, knee deep in mountain flowers. Bassett, watching him, saw the
incredulity in his eyes, and spoke very gently.
"My dear fellow," he said, "you are right. Try to understand what I am
saying, and take it easy. You rode into a blizzard, right enough. But
that was not last night. It was ten years ago."