He told them that they would find two more rifles and a shotgun at the range house. To this information he added that they could pack up some grub and hit the trail along with him. For he was going to bring his cattle back if he had to ride through three states to get them and back through hell to drive them home.
The men rode away to the range house talking among themselves, and King swung about upon Thornton.
"Hello, Buck," he said shortly.
"Hello, King. Anything I can do?"
"Not for me," said King drily. "How about yourself? Lost any cows off'n the Poison Hole?"
"Not a one. The rustlers seem to be giving me a wide berth. I've had my men out every night, though. Maybe they've got wise."
King looked at him sharply. And Thornton was vaguely aware in that swift glance of something which made but little impression on him at the time, something which he forgot even as he saw it, imagining he had misread but something to be remembered in the days that followed: it was a cool, steely look of suspicion.
"Mebbe," King grunted. "It's happenin' all aroun' you. I wasn't sayin' much so long's it didn't come too close the Bar X. An' now I ain't goin' to say much."
Thornton finished his errand with Old Man King and saw him with his men ride away into the little hills of the range. Then he was turning back toward the Poison Hole when young King, riding around the corner of the barn, called to him.
"Hello, Bud," Thornton said casually. "What's the word?"