There was something so encouraging—so confident in the grip, that even had Tad Butler's courage been waning, it would have come back to him with a rush after that.
"Good night," he breathed. "I'll be on the spot if anything occurs."
"I know that," answered the foreman. In an instant Luke had been swallowed up in the great shadow and not even the hoof beats of his pony were audible to the listening ears of the boy.
Tad looked about him inquiringly. As his eyes became more used to the darkness he found himself able to make out objects about him, though the darkness distorted them into strange shapes.
"I think I'll get under that tree," he decided. "No one can see me there. They'd pick me out here in a minute. The cowboys have eyes as well as ears. I know that, for I've lived with them."
The lad tightened on the reins ever so little, and the pony pricking up its ears moved away with scarcely a sound, as if realizing that extreme caution were expected of it.
They pulled up under the shadow of the tree. There, Tad found that he could see what lay about him even better than before.
He patted Pink-eye on the neck and a swish of the animal's tail told him that the little attention was appreciated.
"Good boy," soothed the lad, running his fingers through the mane, straightening out a kink here and there.
He had dropped the reins as he finished with the mane, and Pink-eye's head began to droop until his nose was almost on the ground. He had settled himself for the long vigil. Perhaps he would go to sleep in a few moments. The rider hoped he would, for then there would be no movement that a stranger might hear.