Buck straightened up, bearing in his arms an ammunition box.
“Because we may need ’em,” he said, and bestowed the box under the settle with a kick.
“I don’t get you—that’s revolver ammunition you just put away.”
“Yes.”
Buck continued his work until the room was cleared. The other watched him interestedly. Then as the younger man began to prepare their supper the Padre again reverted to it.
“Maybe you’ll tell me about ’em—now?” he said, with his easy smile.
Buck had just set the kettle on the stove. He stood up, and a frown of perplexity darkened his brow.
“Maybe I won’t be able to get to camp again,” he said. “Maybe we’ll need ’em for another reason.”
“What other?”
“The sheriff’s comin’. That woman’s sent for him. I’ve figgered out he can’t get along till ’bout to-morrow night, or the next mornin’. Anyway it don’t do to reckon close on how quick a sheriff can git doin’.”