"Well," he said, smiling grimly; "here's where we separate. We're north of Twin Buttes, an' that means we are about even with th' south end of our ranch. He could 'a' turned off any place from here on because when he got this far he had just about arrived.
"Now I reckon I better keep on follerin' th' big creek, for I got a feelin' that I know purty well just about where he's located. But we can't overlook no bets. You foller this crick to th' end, or till you see where he left it. An' you meet me tonight, if you can, at th' south end of that big butte up there, th' one with th' humpback.
"I've told you he's dangerous, chain-lightnin' with his guns; an' I'm tellin' you now to make shore you won't forget it. If you run across him, shoot first, as soon as you see him. You can't beat him on th' draw; an' while I don't like to shoot a man that way, I'm swallerin' my pride in this case because he's a spy, or else he'd never ride up th' cricks for forty miles. I never heard of anybody bein' so cautious an' patient all th' time. We got to get him; if we don't there'll be h—l to pay."
"Don't you get no gray hair about me," growled Long Pete. "I know what it means, d—n him!" A smile flitted across his face. "But I shore has to laugh at th' son-of-a-gun! An' me thinkin' he was a prospector, an' loco! I'd feel ashamed of myself if I really did think he was a prospector. You see, I've seen prospectors before. You mustn't mind me makin' a break like that once in a while; I've had to fool so many folks I can't sort of get my bearin's now. I'd be prouder of gettin' a man like him than anythin' I ever done. Did you gimme plenty of grub? All right; I'm movin' on now. So long."
"So long; an' good luck," replied Ackerman, going north along the creek.
Long Pete rode carefully up his own watery way, thoroughly alert and closely scrutinizing both banks.
"Settin' on a cayuse, out here, don't set well on my stummick," he muttered uneasily. "I'd mebby be more prominent cavortin' around on a mountain top, or ridin' upside down on th' under side of a cloud, but I ain't hankerin' after no prominence. Nope; I'm a shrinkin' wiolet. An' splash! splash! says th' bronc. Splash! splash! reg'lar as a watch, for th' whole wide world to hear, observe, an' think about. Long Pete, yo're a fool. Long Pete, yo're several, all kinds of fools. What you should oughta do is picket th' bronc an' perceed with more caution, on yore belly like a silent worm, or at least on yore kneecaps an' han's, like a—like a—a—who th' h—l cares what? Day after day we been temptin' Providence. 'Hurry up!' says he. 'Hurry be d—d!' thought I. But we hurried. Yes sir. But it must be did. D—n th' must. All my sinful life there was a must or a mustn't. It's a must-y world. He-he! That ain't a bad one, or I'm a liar!
"All serene. Both banks lovely. Lush grass an' mosquitoes an' flies. Splash! Splash! Ker-splash! Ker-splash! Slop inter it, bronc. Don't mind my stummick. Keep lungin' on, pluggin' right ahead, stubborn as th' workin's of hell. Long Pete! Long Pete! Ker-splash! Here's Long Pete! Tell him, bronc; grease th' chute for yore boss. Even th' frogs got more sense; they shut up when they hears us. It's a gamble, bronc; a toss-up. Our friend, Mr. James Ackerman, says: 'Here, Long Pete. We done reached th' partin' of th' ways. He could 'a' left th' crick any place, now. Over east yonder is where he was burned out. You take that way, an' I'll go on north where I reckon I know mebby where he oughta be.' That's what he said, bronc. But what he kept a damp, dark, deep secret was: 'But I know he ain't. He's east, where he knows th' lay of th' land. Where he feels at home. An' anyhow, Long Pete, you know too d—d much about our affairs.' He's a friend of ours, bronc; we know that—but he's a better friend of hisself.
"We must watch both banks, bronc; watch 'em close. All right; but this time we'll just bust h—l out of Mr. Must. We'll square up, right now, for th' way Mr. Must has horned inter our affairs all our fool life. Come on; get out of this! That's right. Now you stand there an' drip. I'm going to travel humble an' quiet. I don't want no fife an' drum to lead me to war; no ma'am; not a-tall."
Long Pete's low, muttered chatter ceased as he wriggled through the cover. Minutes passed as he went ahead, glancing continually at the banks of the small creek for the telltale signs. He wormed around some scattered bowlders and came to the edge of a small, rock-floored clearing, where he paused.