"Nothing. I was merely imagining something."
"Red's square," asserted the boy.
"Sheriff Tenlow is a splendid shot," murmured Louise, with apparent irrelevance.
They had crossed the meadow. Ahead of the sheriff walked Overland, his slouch gone, his head carried high. Collie noted this unusual alertness of poise and wondered.
"Don't try the brush," cautioned Tenlow, also aware of Overland's alertness.
"When I leave here, I'll ride. Sabe?" And Overland stepped briskly to the trail, turning his back squarely on the alert and puzzled sheriff.
"He's been raised in these hills," muttered the tramp. "He knows the trails. I don't. But—I'd like to show that little Rose-Lady Girl some real ridin' once. She's a sport. I'd ride into hell and rake out the fire for her.... I hate to—to do it—but I guess I got to."
"Step up there," said Tenlow. "What you talkin' about, anyhow?"
"Angels," replied Overland. "I see 'em once in a while." And he glanced back. He saw Collie talking to the girl, who stood by her pony, the reins dangling lightly from her outstretched hand.
"Snake!" screamed Overland Red, leaping backward and flinging up his arms, directly in the face of the deputy's pony. The horse reared. Overland, crouching, sprang under its belly, striking it as he went. Again the pony reared, nearly throwing the deputy.