I impatiently gathered up my reins and one of the men remarked: "I reckon young Gaylord got home in good time.

He was in an almighty hurry when he started.

He didn't stop for no farewells." With numerous interruptions and humorous interpolations, they finally managed to tell me in their exasperatingly slow drawl that Rad had come back to the hotel that afternoon before the rest of the party, had drunk two glasses of brandy, called for his horse, and galloped off without speaking a word to anyone except to swear at the stable boy.

The speaker finished with the assertion that in his opinion Rad Gaylord and Jeff Gaylord were cut out of the same block.
I shifted my seat uneasily.

This information did not tend to throw any light on the question of the Colonel's whereabouts, and I was in no mood just then to listen to any more gossip about Rad.
"I'm not looking for young Gaylord," I said shortly.