Because every little ever and anon, thin scraps of talk float in from your cookfire in the yard--and there's a heap of it about ropes and lynching, for instance.

If he hasn't run away yet, he'd better--and I'll tell him so if I see him.
Stubby, red-faced, spindlin', thickset, jolly little man, ain't he?
Heavy-complected, broad-shouldered, dark blond, very tall and slender, weighs about a hundred and ninety, with a pale skin and a hollow-cheeked, plump, serious face ?" At this ill-timed and unthinkable levity Breslin stared in bewilderment; Lisner glared, gripping his fist convulsively; and Mr.
Ben Creagan, an uneasy third inquisitor, breathed hard through his nose.

Anastacio Barela, the fourth and last inquisitor, maintained unmoved the disinterested attitude he had held since the interrogation began.

Feet crossed, he lounged in his chair, graceful, silent, smoking, listening, idly observant of wall and ceiling.
No answer being forthcoming to his query Pringle launched another: "Speaking of faces, Creagan, old sport, what's happened to you and your nose?
You look like someone had spread you on the minutes." He eyed Creagan with solicitous interest.
Mr.Creagan's battered face betrayed emotion.

Pringle's shameless mendacity shocked him.