At the critical moment a quiet, well-schooled voice interrupted the scene.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Cambert!"
Nick whirled with an oath of surprise and astonishment, to face Patches, who was coming leisurely toward him from the bushes above the spring.
"What are you doin' here?" demanded Nick, while his victim slunk back to his horse, his eyes fixed upon the intruder with dumb amazement.
"I came for a drink," returned Patches coolly. "Excellent water, isn't it? And the day is really quite warm—makes one appreciate such a delightfully cool retreat, don't you think?"
"Heard us comin' an' thought you'd play the spy, did you?" growled the Tailholt Mountain man.
Patches smiled. "Really, you know, I am afraid I didn't think much about it," he said gently. "I'm troubled that way, you see," he explained, with elaborate politeness. "Often do things upon impulse, don't you know—beastly embarrassing sometimes."
Nick glared at this polite, soft-spoken gentleman, with half-amused anger. "I heard there was a dude tenderfoot hangin' 'round the Cross-Triangle," he said, at last. "You're sure a hell of a fine specimen. You've had your drink; now s'pose you get a-goin'."
"I beg pardon?" drawled Patches, looking at him with innocent inquiry.
"Vamoose! Get out! Go on about your business."