"Yes. Well, you try that an' you'll find out who's runnin' this outfit. I'll trail out after you an' when I catch you, I'll just naturally knock hell out of you, an' that's all there'll be to it. You had the edge on me in the water but you ain't on land. An' now that's settled to the satisfaction of all parties concerned, suppose me an' you slip over to camp an' cook supper so we can pull out right after sundown."
The two made their way through the timber to find Alice blowing herself red in the face in a vain effort to coax a blaze out of a few smouldering coals she had scraped from beneath the ashes of the fire.
"Hold on!" cried the Texan, striding toward her, "I've always maintained that buildin' fires is a he-chore, like swearin', an' puttin' the baby to sleep. So, if you'll just set to one side a minute while I get this fire a-goin' an' Win fetches some water, you can take holt an' do the cookin' while we-all get the outfit ready for the trail."
Something in the man's voice caused the girl to regard him sharply, and her eyes shifted for a moment to his companion who stood in the background. There was no flash of recognition in the glance, and Endicott, suppressing a laugh, turned his face away, picked up the water pail, and started toward the creek.
"Who is that man?" asked the girl, a trifle nervously, as he disappeared from view.
"Who, him?" The Texan was shaving slivers from a bull pine stick. "He's a friend of mine. Win's his name, an' barrin' a few little irregularities of habit, he ain't so bad." The cowboy burst into mournful song as he collected his shavings and laid them upon the coals:
"It's little Joe, the wrangler, he'll wrangle never more,
His days with the remuda they are o'er;
'Twas a year ago last April when he rode into our camp,
Just a little Texas stray, and all alo-o-o-n-e."
Alice leaned toward the man in sudden anger:
"You've been drinking!" she whispered.
Tex glanced at her in surprise: "That's so," he said, gravely. "It's the only way I can get it down."