Johnny got to his feet and walked to a bowlder and sat down. “I got so I was hatin’ him,” he said to Tony, “and yet it kinda chokes me up to see him lyin’ there like that. Things used to be pretty pleasant in the old days on the range.”
Johnny’s words and the look on his face caused Madeiras more concern than the sight of Kent’s lifeless body. Going to the boy’s side, he placed his arm around his shoulders.
“Never min’, Johnny,” he said. “Kent try dam’ hard do ever’t’ing bad for you. No reason for you mak’ me feel all bus’ up.”
“No, I don’t suppose there is; but I’m goin’ to try and do as he wished. If the old man had been all bad he would have put Molly into some institution and forgot her. Whatever he did that was wrong—he was good to her. So don’t talk, Tony. These things square themselves in time.”
Johnny got up and covered Kent’s face.
“Where’s his horse?” the boy asked.
“Back where I lef’ mine,” Madeiras answered, pointing to a little park of stunted cedars.
“No matter,” Johnny went on, “we got to leave him here or—say! We’ll throw him on my horse and tote him to the trees. We can tie him up between some of those cedars so the coyotes won’t be able to git at him. Give me a hand; we got to git movin’.”
When they arrived at the trees they put a rope around Kent’s body, and passed the end of it through a noose in another rope which they had looped over the top of one of the trees. By this arrangement they were able to lift the body from the ground and raise it to a place of safety.
Johnny had knotted the ropes when he suddenly came to attention. Madeiras glanced at him sharply.