Everything was dark and still as they neared the ranch, until two huge coyote hounds hearing their approach ran out barking, and overwhelmed them with a boisterous welcome when they dismounted. Hitching the horses to the fence, Ellis swung open the hanging gate of the square, railed-in enclosure within which the ranch dwelling stood, and they walked slowly up the path. Aroused by the dogs, Trainor himself came out to meet them with a lighted lantern in his hand.
“Hello, people!” was his hearty greeting. “What’s abroad? That you, Mary? Why, Sergeant, it’s you, eh? What’s this young lady been up to now? Is she under arrest?”
“Sure thing,” said Ellis, laughing. “I’m thinking of charging her with ‘vagrancy’—found her wandering around the prairie ‘riding the grub line.’”
Explanations followed, and Trainor led the way into the house. It was a comfortable, home-like, roomy dwelling, simply, but well and substantially furnished, with many splendid bear, deer, and other skins scattered around the painted hardwood floor in lieu of carpets, for Trainor had traveled considerably, and been a mighty hunter in former years. The well-stocked book shelves, the piano, and a few, but good, oil paintings and engravings that adorned the walls, seemed to imply that the owners were people of substance and refinement. Trainor was a tall, strongly-built man of fifty or thereabouts, with a heavy, fair mustache and a humorous, weather-beaten face. His speech, although slightly nasal, was that of an educated American, and his genial, kind-hearted personality created an instinctive liking with all who met him.
He was roughly dressed in a waistcoat, gray-flannel shirt, with blue overalls tucked into high riding-boots; for, apart from the fact that he was well-to-do, and one of the largest stock owners in the district, he was a worker himself, and liked to superintend the running of his ranch personally.
“The wife’s gone to bed long ago,” he said. “I was sitting up, reading, when I heard the dogs start in to yap. Why, Mary, my girl! I thought you said you were going to stay the night at the Goddards’? They’ve got the measles there, eh? Well, all’s well that ends well, thanks to Sergeant Benton, here. Trust you not to get left, anyway. You look pretty well played out, though. You’d better go to roost or you’ll be losing your good looks. Won’t she?”
“Impossible!” exclaimed the sergeant, with such fervent emphasis that a faint blush arose on the girl’s rather tired face, as she thanked him again and bid him “Good-night.”
He chatted awhile with Trainor, who had hospitably produced a bottle of whiskey, and presently got up and prepared to depart, refusing the latter’s invitation for him to stay the night.
“Can’t chance it tonight, Dave,” he said. “I’m anticipating the arrival of one of our officers—Inspector Purvis. He’s about due here, visiting detachments, and I don’t want to be away when he comes. Thanks, all the same! No, you needn’t come out. I’ll off-saddle and fix up old Sam. So long.”