Alta sat silent a moment as he finished—then, “What a beautiful myth!” she said. “I wonder if the Indians really did tell such tales?”
Her companion did not reply. He was listening to something else.
“I’m afraid something’s wrong with my cattle,” he said, handing her the book and jumping to his feet. “Just wait here a few moments till I chase out and see what’s up.”
“Certainly,” said Alta, continuing silently to read, as, leaping on Brownie, he dashed out toward the flat.
Intent on the developing poem, Alta was oblivious to the fact that she was being watched by a pair of wicked eyes that peered through the willows only a few steps away. These same eyes, indeed, had been watching with jealous flash the scene we have just pictured.
Had it been Dick Davis instead of Fred whom Bud Nixon had found with Alta that morning, there is no telling the result; for he was still hot with hate. As it was, he had hard work to hold down his impulse to kill.
Out with his bunch of Indian thieves, he had caught sight of Alta as she was galloping into the brush along the trail to meet Fred. Seized with a passion to follow and torment her—or do worse, the White Injun, ordering his band to wait in the cover of the trees, dashed after the unsuspecting girl. Guessing her purpose to fish, for he had sighted her rod, he made sure to catch her off her horse and unprotected along the creek.
Hiding and tying his pony in the brush, he stole along the trail Alta had taken till his ear caught the sound of voices. He hesitated an instant, then with smothered rage in his heart, he crept inch by inch under the willows till he caught sight of the two friends.
Any but ugly eyes would have found the picture beautiful. On the bank of velvety green they sat, their faces animated with the poet pictures they were sharing. The aspens cast cooling shadows over them, while the stream sang its soothing song as it rippled over the pebbles into Shadow Pool.
But Bud found no beauty in the scene. Fighting mad to be robbed of his chance to do deviltry, his one thought was to get the boy out of his way. Once his hand went to his revolver, but he checked it. Another plan came to his thick brain. He would set his bucks upon the boy’s herd and draw him away. It was a silly, serious trick, but he stole back to execute it. And the plan worked. Fred, hearing the bellowing cows, hurried to find the cause of trouble, while Nixon, coming back through the brush, stepped out of it suddenly before Alta.