"My aunt!" exclaimed Bowles, striking his leg; but Brig only spat and grinned.
"Sure!" he said, and grinned again.
"I have it!" cried Bowles. "Mrs. Lee wrote back and told her sister I was here—and then my aunt began telegraphing! That telegram Mrs. Lee had was from her!"
"Sure thing," agreed Brig; and Bowles looked up to find him smirking.
"Well, what's the matter?" he demanded. "Say, you're pretty smart, aren't you, Brig?" he observed, with pitying scorn. "They don't put one over on you very often, do they?"
"No, indeedy!" swaggered Brigham; and then they both laughed—to themselves. But the jest put an effectual end to the discussion, since Brigham did not know what it was he was supposed to have discovered, and Bowles took no pains to enlighten him. It was enough that Brig considered him a very gay dog indeed, and he did not deny the soft impeachment. So, each with his satisfied smile, they jogged along across the plains, dragging their pack animal behind them and heading for the Bat Wing.
All that day they rode on through the mellow sunshine, and the next morning found them still on their way; but just as the well-remembered ranch came into view there was a rattle of wheels from behind and they swung out to give Henry Lee the road. He was driving the fiery grays, and they fought gamely against the delay, but he pulled them down to a walk while he handed Bowles a note.
"Telegram for you, Mr. Bowles," he said. "Brig, stop at the ranch when you go by—I want to talk with you."
There was much more that might have been said, and Mrs. Lee smiled approvingly at Bowles, but the grays were within sight of the haystack and they cut the talk short with a bolt. Then Bowles glanced through the telegram and thrust it into his shirt.
"My aunt——" he began, and as the grin on Brig's face widened, he stopped short and fell into a sulk. "No use telling you anything, Brig," he said at last; "you can guess by the color of my eye."