“Stop! Here’s a man riding right into our jaws,” muttered Kennedy. “Divide up among the rocks.” A horseman from the south came galloping up the creek, and Kennedy rode out with an ivory smile to meet him. The two men parleyed for a moment, disputed each other sharply, and rode together back to the railroad party.
“Haven’t seen any men looking for horses this morning, have you?” asked Whispering Smith, eying the stranger, a squat, square-jawed fellow with a cataract eye.
“I’m looking for horses myself. I ain’t seen anybody else. What are you looking for?”
“Is this your bunch of horses that got loose here?” asked Smith.
“No.”
“I thought,” said Kennedy, smiling, “you said a minute ago they were.”
The stranger fixed his cataract on him like a flash-light. “I changed my mind.”
Whispering Smith’s brows rose protestingly, but he spoke with perfect amiability as he raised his finger to bring the good eye his way. “You ought to change your hat when you change your mind. I saw you driving a bunch of horses up that canyon 265 a few minutes ago. Now, Rockstro, do you still drag your left leg?”
The rancher looked steadily at his new inquisitor, but blinked like a gopher at the sudden onslaught. “Which of you fellows is Whispering Smith?” he demanded.
“The man with the dough is Whispering Smith every time,” was the answer from Smith himself. “You have about seven years to serve, Rockstro, haven’t you? Seven, I think. Now what have I ever done to you that you should turn a trick like this on me? I knew you were here, and you knew I knew you were here, and I call this a pretty country; a little smooth right around here, like the people, but pretty. Have I ever bothered you? Now tell me one thing––what did you get for covering this trail? I stand to give you two dollars for every one you got last night for the job, if you’ll put us right on the game. Which way did they go?”