The man on his knees hovered a long moment, revolver ready, listening intently. Not a sound—even the horses seemed to be straining their ears for another break in the night.
The man reached out a hand and drew the blankets away from the figure beneath, thrusting his face close. The starlight filtered in and he drew a long, quivering breath—not in hate or horror, but in surprise. He got to his feet and listened again. Then he moved into the open, over the way he had come. After a dozen quick, stealthy paces he stopped and turned back. He unbuttoned the jumper about the figure under the blankets, unbuttoned the shirt, felt quickly about the waist, fumbled a moment, and jerked out a long, limp object. Again he strode catlike into the open, and as he went he tucked the money belt into his shirt-front.
VB rode straight to the ranch. He made a quick ride and arrived before ten.
"Mighty glad Kelly got that man," he told Jed. "I'm like a fish out of water away from the Captain."
At dusk the next day a horseman rode up the gulch to Jed's outfit. The old man stood in the doorway, watching him approach.
"Hello, Dick!" he called, recognizing the deputy from Sand Creek.
"How's things, Jed?"
"Better'n fine."
Worth left his horse and entered the cabin.
"VB around?" he asked.