“Gordon and I will go on to the Bosmans and get another wagon. We won’t be long and you women had better stay here and not walk these three miles.”
I was just about to say “all right” when I happened to glance behind me and there on the bank, silhouetted quite sharply against the sky, stood the figure of a half-clad man.
He was watching every move we made. I pointed to him.
“I think you’d better come with us,” said Owen after one glance, “he might decide to investigate,” and off we all trudged down the dusty road.
Blue black masses of cloud were spreading gradually across the sky and distant thunder muttered ominously.
If a bomb had alighted in the centre of the Bosman ranch, where supper was in progress, it couldn’t have produced a more startling effect than our arrival on foot and the account of our experience. They urged us to spend the night, as the storm was rapidly approaching, but we felt we must go back with Owen.
Mr. Bosman hitched our team to one of his wagons, while Owen telephoned to the Sheriff. We took a few pieces of bread and meat for the poor demented creature at the camp and made another start. Mr. Bosman and his son accompanied us on horseback.
We went by a different road to avoid crossing the creek.
It was dark by the time we reached the La Monte place, everything was still. The four men, with a lighted lantern, entered the house. A wild outburst of singing followed, which told us the same scene was being enacted. The men came out almost immediately, talking earnestly.