"I believe they are at home," said Jack, with a fond look from one to the other, when Firio came to say that everything was ready.
"Señor Jack," whispered Firio insinuatingly, "for the trail you wear the grand, glad trail clothes and the big spurs. I keep them shiny—the big spurs!" He was speaking with the authority of an expert in trail fashions, who would consider Jack in very bad form if he refused.
"Why, yes, Firio, yes; it is so long since we have been on the trail!"
And he went into the bedroom to make the change.
"I've never seen him quite so dumb quiet!" said Worther.
Jack certainly had been quiet, ominously quiet and self-contained. When he came out of the bedroom he was without the jaunty freedom of manner that Little Rivers always associated with his full regalia. In place of the dreamy distances in his eyes on such occasions were a sad preoccupation and determination. When they went outside to Firio and the waiting ponies, the Eternal Painter was in his evening orgy of splendor. But even Jack did not look up at the sky this time as he walked along in silence with his fellow-citizens to the point where the farthest furrow of his ranch had been drawn across the virgin desert. His foot was already in the stirrup when Jim Galway spoke the thought of all:
"Jack, there's only two of you, and if it happened that you met
Leddy—"
"It is Prather that I want to see," Jack answered.
"But Leddy's whole gang! We don't know what your plans are, but if there's going to be a mix-up, why, we've got to be with you!"
"No!" said Jack, decidedly. "Remember, Jim, you were to trust me. This is a mission that requires only two; it is between Prather and me. We are going to get acquainted for the first time."
Already Firio, riding Wrath of God, had started, and the bells of Jag Ear were jingling, while the rifles, their bores so clean from Firio's care, danced with the gleams of sunset in their movement with the burro's jogging trot. Jack sprang into the saddle, his face lighting as the foot came home in the stirrup.