The ancient began to look alarmed. His one intensely blue eye shone with an uneasy light. His continual talk became querulous. After a time he forced Thady Shea to continue their progress; the trail, said he, must lead them to a ranch. Groaning, Shea protested; but presently he yielded to the urgings of Griffith. The two men followed the trail.
There was a man named Fred Ross, who had homesteaded a cañon in the hills beyond the Datils. Thus far unmarried, although he had his hopes, he lived alone; a hard, rough man, kindly at heart, redly wrinkled of face, and keenly alert of eye, he shot beaver and turkey when the forest rangers were not around, and fared well. Indeed, he was wont to say that he was the last man in the United States to know the taste of that succulent morsel, a beaver’s tail.
Fred Ross was plowing on the flat behind his shack when he observed the approach of a tattered old man who moved in trembling haste. Having no liking for tramps, Ross set his hands on his hips and met the visitor with a vigilant eye.
“Well?” he snapped. “Who in time are you?”
“Don’t matter ’bout me, mister,” said the other, agitatedly pawing a long and dirty white beard. “A friend o’ mine is down the cañon a ways, plumb petered out. He was took sick last night—I reckon he’s got a touch o’ fever. D’you s’pose you could let him lay somewheres—mebbe in that cowshed yonder?”
“You be damned, you old fool,” said Ross, harshly. “I ain’t got no room for sick men in my shed—which ain’t no cowshed, neither. Where is he?”
“He—he give out by them trees,” faltered Dad Griffith, backing away. “I got a little money, mister——”
“You be blistered, you an’ your money!” roared Ross. “I don’t want no tramps around here, savvy? I got trouble of my own. Let’s have a look at this friend o’ yours—if you-all are tryin’ any skin game on me, look out!”
He strode forward, and Dad Griffith fluttered away. After him strode Ross. Ten minutes later they came to the gaunt figure of Thady Shea lying beneath some scrub oaks and muttering faintly. Ross leaned over him then straightened up and faced the ancient.
“You—on your way!” he said, roughly, “I’ll take care o’ this feller, but I don’t aim to keep two of ye.”