"I reckon I know from the way you hold that 'ere gun."
Just then the soft-voiced twin rode up to the cabin. Hope accosted him.
"Did you get the coyotes already?"
"Nope, Dave's still diggin'. I'm goin' home er the old man'll be huntin' me with the end of his rope."
"Oh, you'd better stay," she coaxed. "Think of the fun you'll miss when Dave gets into the den. It's your find; you ought to stay for the finish."
"I'll stake you to my share," said the boy. "He'll soon find all there is. But I guess I'd better be a-goin'."
"Perhaps you had," Hope replied, thoughtfully; then she rode over to the industrious Dave, while the soft-voiced twin wisely took a straight bee-line across the hills to his father's ranch.
This time Hope herself climbed the hill to the spot where the boy was digging.
"Dave, I'm afraid there are no coyotes in there, aren't you?"
He stopped work, wiped his brow with something that had once been a red bandanna handkerchief, then gravely eyed the girl, who leaned against the rocks beside him.