He listened silently until Hopalong mentioned the kind of man who had done the killing. "Big Saxe," he exclaimed. "So, that's his game. Well, we got 'em now, Hopalong. I can lay my hands on that cow-killer right soon, an' he 'll squeal, you bet. An' I got a long way to go. Adios."
"Blamed grasshopper!" grumbled Hopalong. "Never even guessed where that horse come from. If Big Saxe is on him yet, you shore got a long journey, Tex."
CHAPTER XVIII
KARL TO THE RESCUE
Dave, harboring a fermenting acerbity beside which the Spartan boy's wolf was a tickling parasite, lay hidden behind a stunted pine, his glasses trained on the Schatz cabin. Sourly he reviewed his several plans, each coming to nought as surely as if Peters had been made aware of it in its inception. The last grand coup, from which he had expected to derive immediate benefit, had arrived prematurely and mysteriously at its unexpected denouement; and that fool Saxe, upon whom he had relied to create a diversion, must needs keep himself hidden, to turn up when his efforts would be worse than useless. And then to come to Dave to be paid for making a fool of himself! He cursed aloud at the recollection. "It was a good scheme, too," he asserted savagely. No use telling him all those cows had stampeded and hurled themselves to destruction—"When the money for 'em was as good as mine." It had never been his real intention to allow Murray and Jack to divide the profits and by a curious mental strabismus he readily saw how he had been robbed. But losing the money was not the only nor the greatest blow. The injury to his sorely tried vanity hurt the most. He had been beaten, not so much by the enemy as by one of his friends.
Clouded by that same vanity his reason had acquitted all those who might have betrayed him, excepting Schatz. Rose, a woman who loved him—he had dismissed the thought with scorn; Comin', Cock Murray; they had all to lose and nothing to gain by treachery: and all the others were bound to him by ties, the weakest of which was stronger than any Buck could have formed in the time. Schatz alone might prove a gainer. He did not know in what way, but purposed to discover. That was why he was watching now. He knew Schatz was at home: he had seen the smoke of his breakfast fire. "Allus is home," he grated. He anticipated the calling of Schatz' agents at the cabin and when Schatz came out and finally rode off on the Twin River trail, Dave was disconcerted. He followed with much care, making good use of his glasses. The sight of Schatz turning off the trail and riding toward the Double Y ranch house filled him with a cold fury.—He determined to intercept him on his return and have it out on the spot.
But Dave, intent upon the unconscious back of Karl, had been careless of the surrounding country; and only his luck in choosing to wait in a place remote from cover, saved him just then from a rude awakening. Dodging about in the vain effort to approach to a point of vantage, was Pickles; he had finished certain mystic incantations involving the running at speed in circles, and was returning to await the fulfilment of his wish. Filled with awe as he was at this swift response, it did not prevent him from acting upon it.
His arrival at the nearest possible point showed him that Dave was still out of range. For the first time a doubt of Buck's omniscience assailed him: it was no part of wisdom to arm a man with a rifle of that sort. With cautious speed he retraced his steps, mounted the Goat, and scurried for the ranch by a roundabout route. There was nothing haphazard about this; his ideas were clearly defined: did n't Red Connors always borrow Hopalong's Sharps for long range? That showed. Pickles had implicit faith in the rifle. All that worried him was that Dave might not wait long enough.
Karl rode leisurely up to the ranch house and called. Mary came to the door and behind her Buck, whose brow was wrinkled in the effort of composing a letter to McAllister. It was not an easy letter to write and Buck had enlisted Whitby's services. He asked Karl to climb down and come inside. Mary had disappeared with a promptitude due to instinctive dislike. Karl was not a man to invite the admiration of any woman at the best of times and now his appearance gave abundant proof of its being long past "chipping-time."
Karl entered with the unexpected lightness of step so often a compensating grace in fat men, shook hands with Whitby, accepted the proffered chair, and plunged into the reason of his visit with but little preamble. Whitby sat making idle marks with his pen; soon he began to write swiftly.