[CHAPTER XX.—ALMOST CAUGHT.]
“Now, I wonder what does ail that queer gent?” mused Billie, after the other had left him, to enter the bunk house, with the avowed intention of lying down. “He limps like all get-out, sure as anything, and I reckon he does look like he’s sick, or scared half to death about something or other. Whatever could it be that’s upset him so since he arrived here? Must be the chance of a scrap coming off; because even if he does boast so hard I’m believing Mr. Thomas is pretty much of a chicken-hearted fellow.
My! how he does roll them white eyes of his around whenever he hears the least sound.”
He poked his head in through the open doorway, and saw that the pilgrim of the trail had indeed rolled into one of the bunks that did not seem to belong to any of the punchers; for there were twice as many sleeping places as hands on the place in these days of hard luck for Bar-S Ranch.
“Well, mebbe he is sick after all,” continued the tender-hearted Billie; “and if I get half a chance to sneak any grub, I’ll remember to fetch it to him; because it’s _aw_ful to have to go hungry. Guess I know. And right now I wish I could manage to pick up a few bites, just to keep away that gnawing feeling inside. But me go in that ranch house, and face that lady—well, not if Broncho Billie knows what’s good for him, and he generally does. There’s some things even worse than being hungry; and getting her hands in my hair’d be one of the same. No siree bob, excuse me. Let her practice on her lawful husband as much as she likes; I ain’t in that pulling game.”
He walked up and down outside as if he were a sentry on guard. And indeed, Billie rather felt as though such were his duties just then, for he could not get entirely over his suspicions with regard to that mysterious Mr. Thomas, and his way of dodging, as though he feared being seen by some one who would recognize him.
“Goodness knows what he may have done!” Billie went on to tell himself after a little more time had elapsed, and his thoughts persisted in returning to the subject of the man in the bunk house. “I wonder, now, if there’s anything inside that he could get away with? But then, cow-punchers never leave their savings around loose; fact is, few of ’em ever have a dollar three days after getting paid. Oh! well, I’ll let him alone for a while, and take a look around the corrals and the barns.”
After that he walked about “sizing up things” as he called it. As the sun was bright, though the afternoon had half gone, Billie suddenly remembered that he had a kodak in his pack; so opening this he secured the little snapshot camera, meaning to take his first view of the ranch buildings.
After securing one picture Billie became aware of the fact that Mr. Comstock was beckoning wildly to catch his attention.
“Now, what does he want, I wonder?” the fat boy asked himself; “there he goes at his wireless again, and seems like he was making motions for me to come over back of the house to where he is. Looks like he was ahiding behind that woodpile, too. What ails all the people here, to want to dodge around like they do? But then, there might be some excuse for Uncle Fred to keep mum; because if ever she gets them hands on him after this, there’s going to be some warm times, believe me. Shall I go over