This was the truth, for Tom had left just before midnight.
“Which way did they all go?” was the next question.
“I really don’t know,” was the calm reply. “It is not the custom of Lucky or Slim to tell me their plans for turning back the cattle.”
“But this other fellow, the one you call Tom: perhaps you know which way he went,” the man persisted.
“Yes, he rode toward the West,” Virginia frankly replied, and then she added, “May I serve you to more cakes?”
“A cool one for her age,” the leader of the posse thought. “Thanks,” he said aloud, “I believe I will have a few more.”
While he was eating the cakes he was trying to think of a question that he might ask the girl that would find her off her guard and perhaps obtain for him the information he desired.
Virginia was busily refilling the huge coffee cups which were used only by the cow-boys, when the leader of the posse asked in a casual manner:
“This ranch house is one of the oldest hereabouts, I understand. Have you any idea how long it’s been standing Miss Davis?”
Virginia paused a moment before replying, but she could see no possible trap in the query, and so she said: