“Ain't that thar Luke Todd? Why air ye a-wait-in' thar?” he called out in a husky undertone.
Todd glanced up, and took his pipe from his mouth; it was now fairly alight.
“Kase it be Chrismus Eve, Tobe,” he said, gravely.
The ranger stared for a moment; then came forward and gave the fodder to the mare, pausing now and then and looking with oblique distrust down upon Luke Todd as he smoked his pipe.
“I want ter tell ye, Tobe, ez some o' the mounting boys air a-sarchin fur ye outside.”
“Who air they?” asked the ranger, calmly.
His tone was so natural, his manner so unsuspecting, that a new doubt began to stir in Luke Todd's mind.
“What ails ye ter keep the mare down hyar, Tobe?” he asked, suddenly. “Tears like ter me ez that be powerful comical.”
“Kase,” said Tobe, reasonably, “some durned horse-thieves kem arter her one night. I fired at t'em. I hain't hearn on 'em sence. An' so I jes hid the mare.”
Todd was puzzled. He shifted his pipe in his mouth. Finally he said: “Some folks 'lowed ez ye hed no right ter take up that mare, bein' ez ye war the ranger.”