Either this was pure effrontery, coupled with finished acting, or it was the speech of an honest man. The widow was unable to determine which, but either, it left her more eager to warn him. If he was a rustler chief, she would serve her own interests could she persuade him to leave the vantage point of the ranch in the basin. If he was innocent, she would repay her small debt to him by warning him of a danger which he doubtless underestimated.
At that moment old Poison came bounding up to them, evidently returned from some hunting expedition of his own. She envied the hound the confidence he was able to throw into his greeting and the honest affection with which he attempted to paw his master. Then the dog turned his attention to her, evidently fixing her identity with one preliminary sniff. He essayed to lick her hand with a series of eager leaps which set the mustang cavorting and stamping her feet.
"Down, you old pest!" Childress ordered. "Down, I say! Go over and tell Mahaffy to spare you some of his feminine shyness."
The dog seemed to understand. At any rate, he started off on a run, seeking the wrangler, who could be seen some distance up the creek.
"Poison seems to remember me, even though our meeting was single and brief," said Mrs. Andress.
"He does," returned Childress, smiling, "and he has a wonderful talent for forgetting people he don't like."
In the face of these pleasantries, it was not easy to return to the subject uppermost in her mind, but she forced herself to do so. "I was thinking rather of the danger to yourself than of the loss of your stock. I suffered another raid within the week. My uncle and Mr. Fitzrapp, my ranch manager, are greatly aroused and intent upon extreme measures. Naturally, any stranger in this section comes under suspicion. If by any chance indiscretion"—for some reason she found herself stating the situation more delicately than she had intended—"if you should be found in any position that was considered incriminating, I hate to think what might happen. I wish you hadn't come here, for really it is not safe. Won't you drive on—make wagon tracks to some other location?"
He was gazing at her in seeming incredulity. "Your uncle will scarcely suspect me, Mrs. Andress."
"But already you are suspected!" she cried. "You and your silver stallion there. In most of the raids such a horse has figured, and there is not a doubt but that the rustlers came from across the border. I don't want to see more trouble started, but there surely will be more if Mr. Fitzrapp learns that you have camped here."
"Oh, Tom Fitzrapp!" The exclamation seemed to escape from reluctant lips and not without a tinge of scorn.