“We can’t find him, Boss. They’ve carried him off, dead or alive.”
“Is it so, Jim? Are you sure? How far did you follow?”
“We must have followed the wrong lead. If any one was ridin’ double, it wasn’t the ones we was after, that’s one thing sure. The blamed hoss thieves pulled clean away from us. Our hosses were plumb winded anyway. And—there’s a deader out there, Boss,” lowering his voice; “I found him as I came back.”
“That explains why no one was riding double,” said Langford, thoughtfully.
“How’s the gal, Boss?”
“I don’t know, Jim. I—don’t know what to do now.”
His eyes were full of trouble.
“Ain’t no use cryin’ over spilt milk and that’s a fac’. ’Bout as sensible as a tryin’ to pick it up after it is spilt. We won’t find Williston this here night, that’s one thing sure. So we’ll just tote the little gal home to the Three Bars with us.”
The boys were returning, silent, gloomy, disconsolate. They eyed the Boss tentatively. Would they receive praise or censure? They had worked hard.
“You’re all right, boys,” said Langford, smiling away their gloom. “But about the girl. There is no woman at the Three Bars, you know—”