This morning Billy got ready his own burro and Mrs. Burton had asked Mr. Simpson to have Ralph’s waiting in case he wished it.
The order was an extraordinary one, yet Mr. Simpson, being one of the wisest of men, had asked no questions.
Naturally he had been aware of Billy’s daily disappearances, but as nothing was told him concerning them, he had appeared comfortably blind.
Now the morning was slightly misty, as many of the early fall mornings are apt to be in the neighborhood of the greatest canyon in the world.
But the mist was colored like an opal as the sun sifted its warm light slowly through.
Ralph did not attempt to keep the younger boy in sight. Only now and then he would send his pony a little more swiftly forward for a fleeting glimpse of him. He was, of course, afraid that Billy would hear him, or that he might suddenly turn around and see him.
It was not necessary that he constantly watch the other rider at the beginning of their travels, as he had a fairly good impression of the route the younger boy would take.
Ralph had been a little bored at getting up so early in the morning, as his outdoor bed had been extremely comfortable. He had slept not far away from Billy’s and Dan’s own tent, declining the offer of Dan’s cot which he had generously insisted upon his taking. Therefore, his bed had been a mattress of balsam and a pair of heavy Indian blankets.
As a matter of fact this was the first morning which Ralph Marshall had honored by arising early since his coming to Arizona. Now, quite apart from his interest in Billy Webster’s mysterious behavior and his own desire to be of service, Ralph felt repaid for his effort.
“The great point was to get started at a thing,” he argued with himself. “After that the doing of it wasn’t half bad.” It occurred to Ralph that this might be true of more important issues than the present one.