Perry, just when he was securing the respect and confidence of the cattlemen up and down the river—excepting Benner, of course—might be called on to face more troubles. And of these he had had enough, and more than enough.
Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar, too, might be rudely disturbed in their new-found dream of happiness. This possibility the scout regretted deeply, for he had taking a great liking to Dunbar and his wife, and would have gone far to insure their tranquil future.
The scout wished that he had not allowed the baron, the trapper and the little Piute to leave Perry’s for the Dinkelmann ranch. If clouds were really beginning to show in the peaceful skies, all the pards should be corraled in one place, ready to hurl their united strength against any quarter of the compass from which a sudden call might come.
“Podner, who lives hyer?”
The raucous voice broke in suddenly on the scout’s reflections. Lifting his eyes he stared at about as ornery a specimen of the genus hobo as he had ever set eyes on.
The man’s face was dirty; his slouch hat was full of bullet holes and the crown was loose and flapping. Through the crown protruded a few stray locks of unkempt hair. Over the man’s left eye was a red handkerchief bandage. His face was dirty. His ragged blue flannel shirt and his torn, greasy trousers were belted in at the waist with a section of frayed rope. On one foot he wore a boot, and on the other a moccasin. But he was riding a good horse, well accoutred—a horse the scout recognized as Wild Bill’s.
“Get off that horse, you!” cried the scout, rising sternly. “If——”
The scout’s voice trailed into silence, and the silence was broken by a hearty laugh from the man in the saddle.
“By gorry,” came the familiar tones of the Laramie man, “if I didn’t fool the king of scouts himself, I’m a yap! Whoosh! You must have mislaid the eagle eye, pard! What chance has Benner got to get next to me if you went so wide of the mark?”
The scout joined in his pard’s laugh.