An' always I knew the man of whom I must ask.

So I never really lost the trail, though for many years it was the dimmest trail ever followed by any man.
"Then come a change in my luck.

Along in Central Utah I rounded up Hurd, an' I whispered somethin' in his ear, an' watched his face, an' then throwed a gun against his bowels.

An' he died with his teeth so tight shut I couldn't have pried them open with a knife.

Slack an' Metzger that same year both heard me whisper the same question, an' neither would they speak a word when they lay dyin'.