The red leaped into the cowboy’s face, and then slowly faded.
“I was a fool,” the cowboy grunted. “Chip didn’t lay for me with the glad hand, either—not so you could notice. He licked me good and proper, right over there in Mohave Cañon. I needed the trimming.”
“Keno! And ye got what ye needed, Barzy. Ever since then ye’ve been purty sensible.” Again a smothered chuckle sounded in the rancher’s tanned throat. “Merriwell,” he continued, smoothing down the fire in his pipe with his thumb, “I hear ye’re purty soon to leave these parts, but I want to tell ye that ye’ve done a man’s work since ye’ve been in Ophir.”
“Don’t lay it on too thick, Dolliver,” Frank laughed. “I’ve made a few friends down this way, I guess, but they had as much to do with that as I had.”
“Mebbyso, mebbyso,” and the wave the rancher gave his hand signified that he had some opinions of his own on that matter. “But this palaver ain’t gittin’ us fur on the road ye’ve got ter travel.”
“Who asked you to send that message to us?” Frank asked.
“Ye ain’t goin’ to know it till ye find it out,” replied Dolliver. “I reckon that’s plain, ain’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose so; but when are we to find it out?”
“Purty quick. I opine ye know Mohave Cañon about as well as the next one, eh? Anyways, it’s plain to you betwixt here and Tinaja Wells?”
“I’ve gone over it enough so I ought to know it.”