He did not want to think.
Certainly he did not want to talk, to Jean especially.

For lies never came easily to the tongue of Lite Avery.

It was all very well to tell Jean that he didn't know who it was; he did tell her so, and made his escape before she could read in his face the fear that he did know.

It was not so easy to guard his fear from the keen eyes of his fellows, with whom he must mingle and discuss the murder, or else pay the penalty of having them suspect that he knew a great deal more about it than he admitted.
Several men tried to stop him and talk about it, but he put them off.
He was due at the ranch, he said, to look after the stock.

He didn't know a thing about it, anyway.
Lazy A coulee, when he rode into it, seemed to wear already an air of depression, foretaste of what was to come.