“All the same,” said Reefe, “that feller I was talkin’ about last night — the Saint — he wouldn’t ’ve sat around doin’ nothing.”
“Too bad we can’t send for him,” said the Saint. “He might be handy to have around.”
He went on eating without saying any more about it, and Reefe seemed to draw back into himself in a disappointed way, as if Simon had let him down. Presently he began to talk to Jean in a rather strained manner, making stiff and trivial conversation. The girl answered him more easily, but every now and again her eyes turned back to the Saint in silent puzzlement.
Simon was too preoccupied with his own speculations to do much about it. They finished eating, and one of the cowboys brought mugs over and poured them coffee. The conversation of Reefe and Jean dried up again, and again they seemed to be waiting for the Saint’s lead. Simon lighted a cigarette and stared frowning at the tinted hills.
At last Reefe got to his feet.
“You want to try your hand at helpin’ us rope some of these calves?” he asked stolidly.
Simon shook his head. He finished his coffee and stood up.
“I think I’ll ride back to the house. Mr Morland should be back with my car before long, and I want to drive into town.”
Hank Reefe considered him lengthily. Then he spoke with deliberation, as if he had finally made up his mind and was satisfied to go through with his decision.
“You ain’t figurin’ on doin’ anything about Valmon at all?”