“Which man was it?” asked John.
“That greaser, Carlos. It did look for one while like he’d made straight for Pike’s cabin, but we was out on our calculations. The tracks we saw turned out to be Neal’s. The greaser must have got picked up by the wind, it looks to me like, for there was two or three sets of tracks by the door, and what we thought his’n we followed straight from the road.”
Alison was bending forward eagerly listening. She breathed a sigh of relief. Carlos had escaped.
“You are sure he wasn’t there,” said John.
“There wasn’t nobody there but Allie when we come by. I reckon she’d hollered if she’d seen him. He got off somehow, but we’ll have him yet. How’s things, Neal?”
“Things” being matters in general which would interest the three men they betook themselves to the outside, where the sun was shining warm and where they squatted down comfortably for a good talk till Bud was ready to take his leave, having loaded himself with all the news he could obtain from the family collectively and individually.
Alison stood on the step watching him depart. John was keeping pace with the horse till he should be ready to pass through the gate. Christine was moving about the inner room. Neal leaned against the side of the house. “Little lady,” he said presently, “got anything to tell me? I reckon I’ll be starting off in the morning.”
“So soon?” the words came with unrestrained tones of regret.
“Yes, don’t you think I’d better be hitchin’ along? The sooner I get started the sooner I’ll get back, and the more likely I’ll be to find Steve.”
“That is true, I suppose. Do you know you haven’t given me my present yet?” she added reproachfully.