“Yes, I know quite a bit about them,” he said. “I know that they don’t want any more commotion than they’ve got to have — which is why Valmon’s performance last night, when I made him mad enough to be stupid, must have been worrying Comrade Julius no little. I know why Comrade Julius must be even more worried since he was here this afternoon, I know that they may be able to make a small county sheriff play ball, but that there are other departments that they couldn’t even begin to talk to — which is why they’d much rather not get involved with kidnappings and killings.”
“All right,” said Reefe. “Then wouldn’t it help if we all knew?”
Simon pushed away his plate and took out a cigarette.
“Maybe it would,” he said at last. “I wouldn’t have told you any sooner because it’s kind of dangerous to know. But by this time they’re liable to think I’ve told you anyhow. So just for fun you could start worrying about this—”
He got no further, because at that moment they were all aware of quickened footsteps scuffling up the hill from the lower mesa where the other ranch buildings were.
The girl stiffened and checked her breath. Hank Reefe, with a different instinctive reaction, turned and began to stretch out a long arm towards the chair where he had shed his gun belt. The Saint crossed his legs and dragged quietly and deeply on his cigarette; Don Morland’s footsteps couldn’t have had that weight, and the Ungodly would have been much stealthier.
The dark shape of a man loomed into the aura of lamplight beyond the porch, and his upturned face showed as a suddenly lighter patch picked out of the night.
“What is it, Elmer?”
Jean Morland said it. She was already at the porch rail as Simon got to his feet.
The cowboy came to a stop, catching his voice after the haste of his climb.