"It was while I was there," said Mark, "up toward the foothills above our ranch."
The young ladies were immensely interested. They wanted to hear all about it and moved into the parlor to be settled and comfortable. They tried to make Mark sit in a massive, gold-trimmed armchair, but he had his wits about him by this time and took a humbler seat beside Lorry. Aunt Ellen sank into her rocker with a sigh of achievement and Chrystie perched on the piano stool. Then he told them the story, forgetting his bashfulness under the spell of their attentive eyes.
"Why can't they catch them," said Chrystie, "if they know their names?"
He couldn't help laughing at that.
"Why, of course they have other names," Lorry explained. "They don't go about as Knapp and Garland."
"But people must see them," Chrystie insisted, "somebody must know what they look like."
Mark had to straighten it out for her.
"Their friends do—ranchers up in the hills, and their pals in the towns. But the sheriffs and the general public don't. When they're out for business they cover their faces, tie handkerchiefs or gunny sacks round them."
Chrystie shuddered delightedly.
"How awful they must be! I'd love to be held up just to see them."