“By-by,” returned Strubell and Lattin, the latter adding:
“Take good care of yourself, Bell, till we meet again.”
“The same to you,” he returned, moving off in the darkness at a leisurely gait, which showed that personal danger was the last thought that entered his mind.
Nick Ribsam, who was still standing near the animals, saw the tall figure, with slightly stooping shoulders, approaching.
“Helloa, younker, where are you?” he asked, coming to a halt and peering round in the gloom, his opportunity for seeing the youth being less favorable than that of Nick for observing him.
“I am here,” replied the lad, holding his Winchester in a tight grip and apprehensive of trouble.
“I only wanted to say good-by to you; I think you and me will meet before many days; till then, the best of luck to you.”
“The same to yourself,” replied Nick, who kept his eyes on the fellow until he mingled with the gloom and became invisible.
Then he walked back to the camp fire, in answer to a whistle from Strubell, who asked the time. It was not quite three o’clock, but was so near that hour that the elder Texan told him to lie down while he and Lattin looked after things for the rest of the night.