The coach cut through the ford to the hiss of the swirling water and turned into the straight in time for them to see a man run out from the Sweet-Echo to meet Rose, standing with his hand on the bridle while Rose leaned forward in what looked suspiciously like a warm greeting.
Another exclamation escaped the young lady on the stage: "Whitby!" and the blush called forth by the driver's frank admiration paled as she watched the two whom they rapidly approached.
"Know him, ma'am?" asked the driver politely; but his companion was oblivious to all but the scene before her.
Rose's imperious gesture and call had brought Whitby running. They had achieved a warm regard for each other during Rose's numerous visits to the Double Y, made at Dave's instigation; visits that had not ceased until the arrival ef Hopalong and Mary, when Dave had declared it was no use to try longer. Whitby grasped the significance of Rose's hurried words in very brief time. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, thinking rapidly. "By Jove! he will do it, too. They can't refuse to honor his check, you know. Buck is the only one can stop it. Lucky Pickles was gone and you came here instead of going to the Wayback bank. Buck has n't long left me. I can catch him." He ran around to the shed at the rear and was going fast when he turned into the trail, astride his pony. His reassuring wave of the hand to Rose stopped in mid-air as he caught sight of Margaret McAllister, standing on the footboard of the coach and looking at him with an expression he did not in the least understand. He made as if to pull up, thought better of it, and sweeping off his hat, dug the spurs into his pony and shot out over the Big Moose trail at a speed that promised to get him somewhere very soon.
* * * * *
Dave had not left the LaFrance cabin far behind when he pulled up with an oath and after a short period of consideration, turned back, riding at fair speed. He found cause to congratulate himself in starting early: it gave him time to go back to Rose and furnish her money in case of need. He saw her sooner than he expected. Turning a slight bend in the trail, he had full view of the Goat, not two hundred yards away, and saw him bound forward like a racer as the spurs ripped into him; Dave gripped a shout in his throat at sight of this act: why was Rose in such a hurry? Suspicion ebbed and flowed in his mind. If she were in such a hurry, why was n't she on Swallow? But the spurring had been for speed, not for punishment. Maybe she was saving Swallow for the longer journey. But if content to tell her father by letter of her going, who in Twin River needed a personal call? She could not be going farther than Twin River—to the Double Y, for example: there was not time for that. And why should she want to go there, either? Dave shook his head impatiently. Either she was square or she was n't. If she was n't, there would be a group of hard-riding boys pounding along the trail in time to cut off Schatz at the bank. He decided to ride to within a short distance of town, lay off the trail, and wait. If no one showed up, he would stick to the original plan. If Rose played crooked, he would take a train East. If too hard pressed, he could use the relays south in place of Denver Gus. Denver might put up an argument but he had one answer to all arguments that had always silenced opposition the moment he produced it. "Get on, bronc," he commanded, heading for Wayback.
* * * * *
Buck had got farther south than Whitby suspected; so far, that Whitby was beginning to hope he had not struck off from the trail, when he sighted him. Buck was riding head on shoulder, as if he had heard the coming of his pursuer, and he pulled up at the other's wild gesture. "What's eatin' him?" said Buck, smiling for the thousandth time at Whitby's manner of riding; it was a constant wonder to Buck that a man could sit a horse like that and stick to the worst of them as Whitby did. "He shore ain't meanin' to swim the Black Jack to get to the Fort." The smile faded as he suddenly realized the appeal in the Englishman's frantic waving; he rode forward rapidly and they were soon near enough together for Whitby to be sure his words would be heard and understood.
"Twin River, Buck! Twin River! And ride like h—l!"
Buck's quirt bit into his pony's flank. Never before had he known the Englishman profane; it must be serious. Whitby turned and raced ahead of him, rapidly over-taken by Buck who rode a fresher and speedier mount. As they ran side by side, Whitby rapidly repeated Rose's news.