“I wish I might believe that it was nothing worse,” answered Grace. “What is your idea, Mr. Bindloss?”
“That’s a fair question, and I’ll give you a fair answer. It is my hunch that the bunch that attacked the ranch is concerned in this case too. I’m going over to see Hornby, and you folks can either wait here for me or return to the ranch.”
Grace asked permission to accompany him, which was rather begrudgingly granted, she thought. Emma elected to stay and watch the herding, and more especially to watch Two-gun Pete’s antics with his mustang and tell him he was the finest horseman in the world. Emma had told that same thing to nearly every one of Old Joe Bindloss’s punchers, and some day it was destined to result in a lively man-to-man fight.
The ride to Hornby’s ranch occupied less than an hour, and Grace observed that Bindloss hailed the log cabin where Hornby lived, while still some little distance away. Judy answered the call and looked her amazement when she saw who the callers were.
“Pap’s got an awful grouch on today. You’d better light out of here hot-foot, Pap Bindloss.”
“Judy, I’m going to see your father. Where may I find him?”
“I reckon right heah! What do ye want?” The voice belonged to Malcolm Hornby.
Grace observed the man with keen interest. Hornby was short and wiry, his eyes keen, but revealing a vicious temper, while his face, probably from exposure to the open, was like wrinkled parchment. Yet he was not an old man, perhaps not more than fifty, with a quick, nervous manner that made one feel he would be a dangerous opponent in a fight.
“I want to talk with you, Hornby. Can we talk in private?” asked Bindloss. “I want to talk with you about two things. The first is about a young friend of mine named Stacy Brown who disappeared from the round-up last night, pony and all. I want your judgment, too. You know these hills better than I do.”
“I don’t know nothin’ ’bout it. Why do ye come heah? Ye don’t think I stole him, do ye?” The question was put with savage emphasis.