"Mayhap you've heard what the early bird catches," Fitzrapp put in, for which he received a frown of caution from the veteran.
"There has been some straying from my niece's two-year-old band," returned MacDonald, his manner courteous, his tone casual. "I didn't know but that they might have wandered into your basin. Fitzrapp and I thought to have a look."
"More than welcome," Childress assured him. "If there are any two-year-olds on the Open A, they don't belong to me. A few mares with colts, the stallion over there, and the team that's now on a trip to the railroad are the extent of my horse stock at present. Later on I hope to branch out a bit, but always there must be a beginning."
The sergeant's attention was diverted by the old hound, which was making extravagant efforts to express his approval of MacDonald by leaping against the horse in an obvious attempt to lick the rider's hand. Evidently the performance was decidedly objectionable to the rangy bay which the stockman rode.
"Hyah, you Poison, quit being a variegated nuisance!" Childress shouted. "That hound-dog certainly is violent in his fancies," he remarked as the beast returned to him with a reluctant whine. "If you'll wait until I throw a saddle on Silver, I'll ride along with you."
A smile of satisfaction crossed Fitzrapp's face. Because of the fact that O'Hara had not returned with any alarming word, he felt certain that the trap could be sprung according to program.
As Childress strode off, Fitzrapp said in an undertone to MacDonald: "We've got him, Major. He's running a bluff thinking we won't look into that side ravine where he's hidden the stolen stock. Watch him try to head us off when I suggest looking there, and be prepared to listen to some glib excuses when we uncover the lifted blacks. This is going to be as good as a drama."
There was no question about the ranch manager's expectations. Obviously he was prepared to enjoy to the utmost the discomfiture of this unknown who had dared arouse the interest of the incomparable Ethel, long the object of his own devotions. He believed that nothing could now save Childress from exposure and disgrace.
The four reached the upper pasture; Darned Cuss, still silent and watchful, riding in the rear to cover Childress on his first move toward his gun. There the suspect drew rein. With a wave of his hand he indicated a dozen mares and some young colts which stared with up-pointing ears at the party interrupting their breakfast.
"No strays here, Major MacDonald, as you can see for yourself," he remarked, with a smile that seemed a trifle too bland.