“Yeah!”
“I can’t bear to think of her knowing. It would just about bust her.”
Mills drawled: “Your sentiments does you credit, Bud.”
There was a cold and scornful anger in his tone that kept the other for the moment silent. They rode on, side by side, and Loupel, covertly watching the younger man, waited for him to speak. Mills finished his cigarette, eyes straight before him, face unchanging. Then he flicked the butt away and turned in his saddle and looked at his pardner.
“What’s Rand say?” he asked.
“He’s been away. Due back to-morrow afternoon. He’ll spot it in a minute.”
Mills whistled for a moment, between his teeth, a gallant little tune; then he nodded, as though in decision, and he asked: “All right, Bud. What’s your idea?”
While they rode on at the trot toward the low hills south of the town Bud Loupel outlined his idea; and when they turned back again at sunset Jack had agreed to do what the other asked of him.
V
At ten o’clock next morning the town lay still and shimmering in the blistering sun of a summer day. There were one or two men in Brady’s, and here and there along Main Street other figures lounged in the shade. Jack Mills rode in from the south on a strange horse, wearing new overalls and an indistinguishable hat. There was a red bandanna loosely knotted about his neck. He encountered no one within recognizing distance. In front of the bank he dropped off, hitched the horse, lifted the handkerchief so that it hid his mouth and nose, and stepped into the building. Two or three people at some distance saw him go in, and idly wondered who the stranger was.