Stamford could hear him pounding off to the stables. In what seemed seconds he was galloping back below the house, making for the west.
Opposite Stamford's window the horse dropped suddenly back on its haunches. Stamford peered out. Somewhere to the west came the swift gallop of approaching horses.
But Cockney's eyes were fixed on the side of the house. Stamford saw them rise to the Professor's window and drop again, while the broncho pawed impatiently. With a bend of the hand Cockney turned the horse to the house, where it drew up for a brief moment, then, under digging spur, dashed to meet the oncoming riders.
Stamford leaned out and saw the rope ladder dangling from the Professor's window.
Before Cockney had gone a dozen paces the ladder began to move rapidly upward. In the dim light Stamford imagined a small hand reached out and drew it over the sill.
Thirty yards away Stamford and the approaching horses met.
"Who's had Pink Eye out?" demanded Dakota's angry voice.
There was a perceptible pause.
"I don't like your tone, Dakota," said Cockney icily. "When you want information, there's only one way to get it."
"I found him out there on the prairie," Dakota blustered.