“He jumped from his hiding-place just as I came along, so suddenly that the mare shied and nearly threw me. He was just ready to shoot—he said the beast was only a little way down the draw—and saw me barely in time to throw up his revolver and send it off at the sky. By that time, of course, the wolf was out of sight. I’m going back there at daybreak to-morrow to see if I can get a crack at it.”
Just then Gonzalez came riding into the corral, and Curtis moved his chair to the doorway, in front of his brother. “All right, Homer, I wish you would,” he said; “it would be just a tenderfoot’s luck, you know, if you should get it.” He was rolling a cigarette, but keeping one eye on José, who was caring for his horse. “Was there much rain in Golden to-day?” he asked.
“Yes; quite a storm, with lots of fireworks; I never saw such lightning or heard such thunder in my life. There must have been a flood farther up in the mountains, for the creek came down that ravine fairly booming, just as you said it would. It swept away one of the bridges and washed out parts of the foundations of two or three houses. But it soon went down again.”
“Was the bank building injured?” Curtis asked, still following with narrowed eyes the movements of Gonzalez. “It’s in a dangerous spot if a really bad flood ever does come down that valley.”
“The First National? That’s Bancroft’s bank, isn’t it? Yes; it lost some bricks out of the foundation, and the ground was washed away a little. Nothing of consequence.”
“Well, that has happened several times already; some of these days it will happen once too often. Long ago, I’m told, the street and sidewalk had to be moved to the other side of the houses for a block or two along there. You remember the creek elbows toward the bank. If a great mass of water ever comes down that canyon it will rush straight against the side of the building—and the lives of whoever happens to be inside won’t be worth two switches of a cow’s tail.”
“I talked with Mr. Bancroft about that possibility to-day,” said Homer, “and he doesn’t think the situation is dangerous.”
“Yes; nobody in Golden believes there’s any danger. And they may be right. They say there isn’t as much rain now as there used to be, and that cloud-bursts of any consequence are as rare as six-legged calves. It will all depend on the weather.”
The next morning José Gonzalez was hitching up to drive the men to Adobe Springs when Conrad walked up, leaned carelessly against the wheel, and looked him in the eye. The Mexican returned the gaze unflinchingly but respectfully. “José,” said Curtis in a low tone, “you made a mistake about that wolf last night, didn’t you? It wasn’t the wolf you thought it was when you made ready to shoot, was it?”
An amused gleam lighted for an instant José’s sombre eyes. “It might have been as you say, Don Curtis,” he answered cautiously.