Buck was riding wide of the ranch house when a suspicion pricked him and he headed for home. At the door he shouted for Jake.
Jake lounged out. "What's th' noise?" he asked, languidly.
"Say, Jake, where 'd you get them aigs?"
Jake looked pained. "I got 'em off Cheyenne Charley," he asserted.
"Cheyenne Charley? Where 'n blazes did he get 'em," wondered Buck.
"Well, now, I can't rightly say," drawled Jake, "but I'm certain shore o' one thing: he never laid 'em."
"No," agreed Buck, reflectively. "Did he give 'em to you?" he added.
Jake yawned elaborately to hide the weakness of his position. "Not exactly," he admitted. "I got him drunk."
"Oh," commented Buck. He turned to ride off when another question obtruded itself, but Jake had disappeared. Buck slid to the ground and entered quietly by another door, going to where he kept his private stock. A rapid inspection showed where Jake had obtained his supply. He had appropriated Buck's whiskey to pay for eggs which it was very evident he had meant to eat himself. Only his vanity had led to their disclosure. "Th' d—n scoundrel!" said Buck, and he hurriedly secured the demijohn in the one place in the house that locked.
CHAPTER X