A low groan from the lips of the Texan interrupted her. With a hand pressed tightly to his brow, he was staggering toward his horse.
CHAPTER XII
IN TIMBER CITY
On the porch of the Cameron cottage, Endicott and Colston, absorbed in business, talked until the ends of their cigars made glowing red spots in the darkness. The deal by which Endicott became sole proprietor of the Y Bar outfit was consummated, and Colston's promise to have the papers drawn up in the morning was interrupted by a furious volley of shots from the direction of the Red Front. Colston smiled: "NL rodeo probably camped near here an' the boys run in to wake up the town!"
Endicott glanced swiftly about him: "But, my wife!" he exclaimed, "Where is she? She promised to return before dark, and—why, it must have been dark for an hour!"
Colston noting the look of genuine alarm on the man's face, sought to reassure him: "Oh, well, she probably got interested in the scenery and rode a little farther than she intended. She'll be along directly——"
"Something may have happened—an accident——"
"Not much chance of that. Powder Face is woman broke, an' gentle as any cayuse can get. About that lower range I was tellin' you—where the Wilson sheep are creepin' in—" With merely the barest pretence of listening, Endicott rose, opened the screen door, tossed his cigar into the yard, and began pacing up and down the porch. At each turn he paused and peered out into the darkness.