Again Patches called, "Wait, Joe!" and his voice was almost pleading. "Can't you understand, Joe? Come with me. Don't be a dog for any man. Let me give you a chance. Be a man, Joe—for God's sake, be a man! Come with me."
"Well," growled Nick to his follower, as Patches finished, "are you comin' or have I got to go and get you?"
With a sickening, hangdog look Joe mumbled something and rode after his master.
As they disappeared up the trail, Nick called back, "I'll get you yet, you sneakin' spy."
"Not after you've had time to think it over," answered Patches cheerfully. "It would interfere too much with your real business. I'll leave your gun at the gate of that old corral up the wash. Good-by, Joe!"
For a few moments longer the strange man stood in the glade, listening to the vanishing sounds of their going, while that mirthless, self-mocking smile curved his lips.
"Poor devil!" he muttered sadly, as he turned at last to make his way back to his horse. "Poor Joe! I know just how he feels. It's hard—it's beastly hard to break away."
"I'm afraid I have made trouble for you, sir," Patches said ruefully to the Dean, as he briefly related the incident to his employer and to Phil that afternoon. "I'm sorry; I really didn't stop to think."
"Trouble!" retorted the Dean, his eyes twinkling approval, while Phil laughed joyously. "Why, man, we've been prayin' for trouble with that blamed Tailholt Mountain outfit. You're a plumb wonder, young man. But what in thunder was you aimin' to do with that ornery Yavapai Joe, if he'd a' took you up on your fool proposition?"
"Really, to tell the truth," murmured Patches, "I don't exactly know. I fancied the experiment would be interesting; and I was so sorry for the poor chap that I—" he stopped, shamefaced, to join in the laugh.