“Well, I know him, that’s all.”
“Seems to be a partickler friend of yours,” suggested Sally.
“Yes, he is; and I’ll stand by him. If that boy has been driven out of this valley, he’s been wronged, and I know it”; with these worried words she turned silently to her work, resolved in her heart to find out the truth.
It was this determination that made her ready to meet Dick more than half way that night, when he, stimulated by Sally’s suggestion that Alta was “dying to make up,” invited her to dance. His delight in feeling that he had brought the independent girl to terms was doubled when she invited him to sit down with her. But his hopes were dashed when she asked abruptly, “Where is Fred to-night?”
“Who, the cow-kid?” Dick stammered; “why, he’s hit the trail.”
“What do you mean by that?” Alta half demanded.
“Skipped the country, that’s all,” Dick was evasive and snappish.
“Why did he do it?”
“He lost and killed several critters out of his blooded bunch, and the boss fired him.”
“Killed his cattle? How?” Alta was provokingly persistent. Dick began to get nervous.