“The Reserve’s nigh on to a hund’ed an’ fifty miles from here, I guess. Lies away ther’ to the nor’east, down in the Foothills. The bluff lies beyond.” Then he paused and a flash of thought shot through his active brain. There was a strange something looking out of Nick’s eyes which he interpreted aright. Inspiration leapt, and he gripped it, and held it.
“Say,” he went on, “you ain’t thinkin’ o’ makin’ the Reserve, Nick?” Then he turned swiftly and looked at Ralph. The quieter man was gazing heavily at his brother. And as Victor turned back again to Nick his heart beat faster.
Nick lowered his eyes when he found himself the object of the double scrutiny. He felt as though he would like to have withdrawn his questions, and he shifted uneasily. But Victor waited for his answer and he was forced to go on.
“Oh,” he said, with a shamefaced laugh, “I was on’y jest thinkin’. I ’lows that yarn was a real good one.”
There was a brief silence while swift thought was passing behind Victor’s dark face. Then slowly, and even solemnly, came words which gripped the hearts of his two guests.
“It wa’n’t no yarn. I see that White Squaw wi’ my own two eyes.”
Nick started to his feet. The “punch” had fired him almost beyond control. His face worked with nervous twitchings. He raised one hand up and swung it forcefully down as though delivering a blow.
“By Gar!” he cried, “then I go an’ find her; I go an’ see for myself.”
And as he spoke a strange expression looked out of Victor’s eyes.
Ralph removed his pipe from his lips.