“Nick, will you put on some coffee?”
“Sure, sure!” Nick hastened to comply. Silent seated himself by the fire, his head in his hands.
“Anything wrong?” Roy demanded. “You hurt?”
The head shook a denial.
“Not hurt—just tired.” He took a deep breath. “Roy, I found it.”
“Found what?”
“Greyhound’s camp. It’s about seven miles from here. I tracked the guy who threw that note—I tracked him miles. He had a pony a little way out from here. I had to run then. Run behind the bronc, for seven miles! Snakes!”
“Here,” Nick said. “Drink this!” He held out a tin cup filled with hot coffee. “That’ll fix you up.”
Silent buried his nose in the cup without a word. Hot as the liquid was, he finished it without raising his head.
“Baby, that’s good,” he declared, and his voice was stronger now. “A little more, Nick, if you have any left.” Suddenly he flung his chin up. “Say, did you guys hear what I said? I found Greyhound’s camp!”