“Then that’s what brought those Indians here?”
“Looks that way. But this fellow would be in mighty bad if it was found out by the mounted police. But—hush! I reckon he’s coming now.”
Sure enough the red-bearded man re-entered the room at this juncture. He bore a big dish of bacon and eggs in one hand and in the other he had a blackened tin pot from which came the savory aroma of coffee.
From a corner cupboard he got tin plates and cups and wooden-handled knives and forks. He asked them what their business was as he laid the table, which required no cloth, being covered with a strip of white oil-cloth.
“We wanted to buy some ponies from Donald Campbell,” spoke Ralph before Jim’s heavy foot kicked him under the table. For an instant there was a sharp glint in the red-bearded man’s eyes.
“Buyin’ ponies, eh? Must have lots of money. Ponies is high right now.”
“In that case we can’t afford ’em,” said Jim, taking the conversation into his own hands. He had noticed the momentary flash in the man’s eyes when Ralph spoke of buying ponies, and rightly interpreted it. The man stood by them while they ate and told them that he had bought the ranch some time before, but that it was a poor place and he could make nothing out of it He appeared anxious to impress them that he was a rancher and nothing else, and spoke much of crops and stock. Jim and Ralph listened, replying at intervals.
When they had finished eating, the red-bearded man offered to escort them to bed. He wanted to put them in separate rooms, but Mountain Jim demurred to this.
“My partner here is a heavy sleeper,” he said, “and we’ve got to be up early to-morrow. I’d rouse up the whole house waking him if you put him in another room.”