Stampede shrugged his shoulders as he valiantly kept up with Alan’s suddenly quickened pace.
“She insisted. Said it meant life and death for her. And she looked it. White as paper after her talk with Rossland. Besides—”
“What?”
“Sokwenna won’t sleep until we get back. He knows. I told him. And he’s watching from the garret window with a.303 Savage. I saw him pick off a duck the other day at two hundred yards.”
They hurried on. After a little Alan said, with the fear which he could not name clutching at his heart, “Why did you say Graham might not be far away?”
“In my bones,” replied Stampede, his face hard as rock again. “In my bones!”
“Is that all?”
“Not quite. I think Rossland told her. She was so white. And her hand cold as a lump of clay when she put it on mine. It was in her eyes, too. Besides, Rossland has taken possession of your cabin as though he owns it. I take it that means somebody behind him, a force, something big to reckon with. He asked me how many men we had. I told him, stretching it a little. He grinned. He couldn’t keep back that grin. It was as if a devil in him slipped out from hiding for an instant.”
Suddenly he caught Alan’s arm and stopped him. His chin shot out. The sweat ran from his face. For a full quarter of a minute the two men stared at each other.
“Alan, we’re short-sighted. I’m damned if I don’t think we ought to call the herdsmen in, and every man with a loaded gun!”