“He’ll have another visitor, Nick,” laughed the scout, “before he’s many minutes older.”
“We’re goin’ ter hang out right hyar in ther scrub an’ watch fer trouble signs,” averred the trapper. “Ef we savvy thet ther baron is tryin’ ter put ther kybosh on ye, we’re goin’ ter turn loose an’ ride over ther hull H-P outfit.”
“Well,” cautioned the scout, “don’t you make any move until you’re mighty sure I want you.”
“Don’t worry about that, pard,” said Wild Bill reassuringly.
“Perhaps,” spoke up the sky pilot, “I could be of help if I went with you. I am well known at the H-P ranch, and a good many of the cowboys are personal friends of mine.”
“Are they so friendly toward you, friend Jordan,” asked the scout, “that they would take your part against Phelps?”
“Why, no. That would be rather too much to expect of them.”
“Then I don’t believe you could be of much help. Anyhow, I would rather not give Phelps a chance to think that I’m trying to hide behind a man of your cloth. Stay here with the rest, friend Jordan, and I’ll go down and see what I can find out.”
“Good luck go with you,” murmured the sky pilot.
The scout’s spurs rattled and Bear Paw galloped clear of the scrub and down the slope leading to the ranch houses.