"Unless Childress enters objection," said MacDonald, "I'll be glad to guarantee your share of the purse. But I would suggest that it would be more satisfactory all around if he can ride over to our place within the next day or two and we'll draw up a formal agreement. To my mind he's entitled to look over Canada so long as you've seen the opposing horse, Thomas. Do you suppose you could get away to-morrow or the next day, Mr. Childress?"
Several things combined to bring forth a ready acceptance from the sergeant. One was the shadow of disapproval that rested on Fitzrapp's face. Another was the hope that the visit would bring about further meeting with Mrs. Andress in whom he felt an interest that refused to be subjugated by any argument of common sense—an interest that would not yield to the more vivid impression made upon him by his debtor, the flame girl from Lazy G.
"Make it day after to-morrow," he said cheerfully. "My outfit—my one wrangler—will have returned from the railroad by that time, and I can get away." And all the time an inner voice kept telling him that he was only making trouble for himself in that a sergeant of the Scarlet had no business cultivating an interest in any woman, much less tantalizing himself with two.
The Rafter A party were on the open range outside Childress' basin when MacDonald spoke.
"I'm afraid you were a bit rash in that challenge, Thomas. The silver beast is a runner or I'm no judge of horse flesh, and that chap will ride him to the last kick. It's not going to help you any with Ethel to have Childress trim you. Already she's showing an interest in him that's not so good."
"I've confidence in Canada and I'm used to track racing," returned the ranch manager, still chagrined over the unexpected invitation which the major had extended. "But, hell, we need not trouble our minds over any race with that rustler! He'll never dare show up at the track. We'll surely have the evidence against him by that time."
"We've secured a fine lot of evidence this morning," retorted MacDonald, in a sarcastic vein which he seldom used. "What do you suppose became of those horses O'Hara saw in that ravine?"
"Heaven only knows!" exclaimed Fitzrapp.
"Wonder if O'Hara is really on the level," mused the major audibly. "His looks are against him, and he hails from over in the States, where all our troubles come from."
Fitzrapp entered a prompt defence of the head buster, and MacDonald dropped the subject with the remark that he would make another tally of the two-year-old band that afternoon.