A shade of amusement, merging into wonder, crossed the herder’s countenance, and he communed with himself thus:
“Blow my stripes, if Old Century isn’t going to take the trail himself! He’s telling that canine what to do while he’s gone, and, ahoy, there! If the knowin’ creatur’ doesn’t understand him! All right, grand sir! Yet, not all so right, either. It takes a deal of business to move Pedro off his mesa, and if he’s riled enough to leave it now, it’s because he sees more danger to Lady Jess than even I do. Hello! what’s he waiting for?”
Evidently for Samson to depart, which that gentleman presently did, grimly considering:
“Old chap thinks the whole mesa belongs to him, and ’pears to suspect I might rob him if he left me behind. Well, friend, I’ve no call to tarry. Since my lady isn’t here, I must seek her elsewhere,” and down the canyon Samson dashed, his sure-footed beast passing safely where a more careful animal would have stumbled.
All this had happened soon after the dispersing of the ranchmen to search for Jessica, and Samson had now taken that turn of the trail which led to the miner’s cabin.
“’Tisn’t likely she’s there, though. She’d never travel afoot that long distance, and Buster’s in the stable.”
The Winklers received him with gloom. The hilarious gayety that had once distinguished their small household had vanished with the loss of Elsa’s money. Their son, and idol, had been defrauded of a rich future for which they had toiled, and life now seemed to them but an irksome round of humdrum duties, to be gotten through with as easily as possible. Over the cabin hung an air of neglect which even Samson was swift to note, and most significant of all, Elsa’s knitting had fallen to the floor and 35 become the plaything of a kitten, which evoked no reprimand, tangle the yarn as she would.
“Hello, neighbors! Ain’t lookin’ over and above cheerful, are you? What’s wrong?”
“Good-day, herder. How’s all?”