“Come on!” he shouted back over one shoulder. “There’s trouble at the ranch.”
Bud dug spurs into his cayuse and followed, but it was some minutes before he managed to catch up with his friend.
“What is it?” he cried anxiously. “What’s wrong? Have the Mannings—”
“They’ve gone, as I thought,” snapped Stratton. “The two women are alone. But that isn’t the worst.” A sudden spasm of uncontrolled fury rose in his throat and choked him momentarily. “There’s some one hidden in the loft over the harness-room,” he managed to finish hoarsely.
Bud stared at him in dismay. “Who the devil—”
“I don’t know. She just got a glimpse of a—a face in the window while she was closing up the kitchen.”
“Do you suppose it’s—Tex?”
“I don’t know,” retorted Buck through his clenched teeth. “What difference does it make, anyhow? Some one hid there for a—a purpose. By God! What fools we were not to make a search!”
“It seemed so darn sure they’d all beat it,” faltered 303 Bud. “Besides, I don’t guess any of us would of thought to look in that loft.”
“Maybe not. It doesn’t matter. We didn’t.” Stratton’s voice was brittle. “But if anything happens—”