With that, Dolliver stepped back through his front door.
“Pretty short about it,” remarked Frank.
“He’s worked up about something,” said Blunt. “He hasn’t any time for the extra frills when he’s bothered like that.”
They rode around the cabin to the corral, stripped the riding gear from their horses, and turned the animals into the small inclosure. A moment later, they were inside the house, occupying a couple of chairs and facing the rancher.
Dolliver had his pipe going, and his eyes were glittering strangely.
“Reckon ye’re some s’prised to be brought out here like this, eh?” he asked.
“Well, a little,” Frank acknowledged.
“Why’d ye come on such scant information?”
“Mainly because you gave us the information, Dolliver.”
“That’s you!” said Dolliver, with something like a cackle in his hairy throat. “Merriwell, ye’re plumb queer. I figgered that out some weeks back, when ye was up to Tinaja Wells, in camp. When a feller does ye dirt, ye don’t allers hide out in the bresh with a gun and wait fer him to come trompin’ by. Not you! Ye lay fer him with the glad hand, if he’ll only give ye half a chance. Blunt knows that,” he added significantly.