Peg was talking at the time, and grumbling after his usual manner about something or other.
"Ten to one the fellow's gone and deserted us, Nick!" he remarked, suspicion in every word.
Apparently the lounging cowboy did not share in his opinion, for he laughed in a careless way as he drawled out:
"Oh! I reckon not, Peg. Me and Joe has hit up the pace fur some years in company, and I knows him too well to b'lieve he'd break loose from a soft snap like this here one. Jest lie low, an' he'll be back. Let's hope Joe's found out somethin' wuth knowin'."
"But he's been gone nearly an hour now," complained Peg.
"What of that? It ain't the easiest thing gettin' around on this rocky ole mounting in the pitch dark, let me tell ye, Peg," Nick remarked; and by the way he seemed to puff between each few words, Bob understood that it must be Nick who was using the cigarette, and not Spanish Joe.
"Say, that's so," admitted Peg, as if a new idea had come to him. "Perhaps he's slipped, and fallen down into one of those holes you showed me when we were coming up!"
This also amused the cowboy, for he chuckled again.
"Too easy an end for Spanish Joe," he said, carelessly. "Born fur the rope, and he can't cheat his fate. Same thing's been said 'bout me. Don't bother me none, though, and sometimes it's a real comfort; 'specially when a landslide carries ye down the side of a mounting like a railroad train, like I had happen to me. Nawthin' ain't agoin' to hurt ye if so be yer end's got to come by the rope."
"A landslide! Do they often have that sort of thing out here?" asked Peg, showing some anxiety, as though he had read about such terrible happenings, and did not care to make a close acquaintance with one.