Two men left the unroofed cabin as she watched, and walked toward the corral, the smaller carrying a saddle and bridle. The taller one, who walked with a long stride and played with the loop of his rope she saw at a glance was Childress who should have been anywhere else but there on the border range, unless——
Remembrance gripped her. Fitzrapp had seen him in Strathconna with Flame Gallegher. This cup which he seemed to have occupied, was a buffer between the Rafter A and the Gallegher ranch. What was the connection? Tom suspected the owner of the silver horse to be leader of the rustlers; could it be possible that the Galleghers were concerned in the stealing and that the man who called himself Childress was there at Gallegher instigation? Until that moment she had held Fitzrapp's reiterated suspicions as groundless and merely an outgrowth of his own jealousy. Was it possible that Tom was right and that this upstanding young American who said he had come from Montana really was the head of the rustling band? If so, he could scarcely have found a likelier place as a base of operations.
Claim to a ranchhold there would be a reasonable excuse for his presence on the range; the location offered every opportunity for spying on the Rafter horse bands and a ready refuge in case raiding plans miscarried. What a discovery she had stumbled upon! And what fools they had been, they of the Rafter outfit, not to have learned that this particular section was open to purchase from the railroad people!
Ethel watched the men as they crossed to the corral, her mind still busy with this new problem. She knew that a canvas corral was impenetrable to the most obstinate outlaw, and was the best fence for breaking purposes. Even before the pair entered the enclosure, she suspected what was on hand—that the roan beast, moving so restlessly inside, was going to feel saddle girths, possibly for the first time.
Mrs. Andress was in doubt as to her immediate course. Had she been convinced that Childress was the rustler Fitzrapp believed him to be, she would have hurried away to round up her outfit and give the battle in which she longed to be a participant. But she had no proof of his guilt, and could take no definite action on mere suspicion.
Then she remembered Childress's frank-looking eyes and his resourcefulness when he thought her in danger that morning on the Indian reservation, and she knew that she was far from convinced. Horse-thieves might not look the part, as the men of Rafter A agreed, but she felt that Childress could not act such a rôle. A desire to see him and talk to him grew upon her, and finally won her decision. She'd yield to the filly, which probably would have thrown her and gone for a visit to the silver beast whether or no.
She would ride down to the canvas corral, and if the stranger confirmed her first impression, she would warn him of the danger that hung over anyone under suspicion in the vicinity of the Fire Weed range. Indeed, she was not certain but that she would warn him of peril in any event. If he was a rustler, and she succeeded in frightening him away, the result would be the same as though she and her outfit fought him off. Danger would be spared them both, and she felt that she owed him something for his intentions up at Whitefoot.
For just a moment she wavered, remembering what Fitzrapp had reported seeing at the Chateau Royal. She had no love to lose for the Gallegher girl. But she banished the thought as utterly outside the question, so far as she was concerned. She would warn him; but first, from this reserved seat on the bald bluff, after restraining her mount, she would see how he handled a recalcitrant horse.