“How would Benner gain anything by that?” asked Wild Bill, wrinkling his brows over this new phase of the matter.
“He might gain just the point you’re suggesting—that one of us ride to his ranch for investigation. Perhaps that’s what he’s working for.”
“So he can get hold of one of us?”
“Possibly.”
“Well, Benner’s long-headed, Pard Cody, but he’s not so long-headed as all that comes to. I’ll gamble that Benner’s man who tipped off the sky pilot was acting in good faith. We know Jordan has friends at Benner’s; and maybe Perry has a few there, too, and that they’re trying to show friendship in the only way they dare, and hold their jobs. Which is it, yes or no?”
“Go ahead,” said the scout; “but, if you’re not back by some time to-night, you’ll know I’m hitting the trail on the hunt for you.”
“I’ll get back, and don’t you forget that. Stay right here for half an hour and I’ll show you something.”
Wild Bill, as he spoke, got up from the bench. A moment later he had disappeared in the bunk house behind the ranch headquarters.
The scout, filling and lighting his pipe, leaned back on the bench and gave way to reflections that were not wholly agreeable.
Here, where he and his friends had wrought peace and happiness on the Star-A section of the Brazos, had suddenly appeared the ugly, serpent-like head of under-handed war.