Mira let him ramble on; she loved to hear him, loved it now more than ever, after her absence south with the last lot of stolen horses.
"Ain't it a bit small for horses, Pete?"
He eyed the raft doubtfully. "Thar's jes' two more, yuh know. It'll carry 'em, I guess. Anyway we kin make two trips of it." He paused and turned his gleaming eyes full on her face. "Jes' two more, Mira, an' then we kin clear out!"
"Where to, Pete?" She looked up at him in sudden fright then that she had spoken so plainly.
"Why—why—down south—to the 3-bar-Y—to suthin' wuth livin' fer—to whar yuh'll be a sight better off than with a rough cuss like me."
The wistfulness that had stilled her laugh and sobered her face these many weeks spoke at last; her eyes were wet.
"Have you thought, Pete, dear—thought what'll happen when they get us again?"
"Sure I have," he replied bravely. "Wot d'yuh mean?"
"What will the Police say?"
He reached out to tickle Whiskers' neck with a twig and laughed lightly. "I don' know wot they'll say, an' I don' care, but I know wot they'll do. They'll take hold o' my hands an'—an'—Gor-swizzle! I shud oughta know the Sergeant. . . . No more I ain't skeered o' th' Inspector."