Buck had no word of greeting to offer. His dark eyes were intently fixed upon the other’s face. In a moment his friend turned to him.
“It’s just on nine, Buck,” he said, in his kindest fashion. “We haven’t eaten yet—it’s ready.”
It was Buck’s turn to glance over at the horses so busily eating their oats. A curious smile lit his eyes. He knew well enough that the other had more than fathomed the meaning of those preparations. He was glad he had made no attempt to conceal them. That sort of thing was never his way. He had nothing to conceal from his friend.
“I had a few chores to git fixed,” he said easily, indicating the horses. “They’ll sure need a good feed before daylight, I guess.”
The Padre pointed at his belt and revolvers.
“And you’re sleeping in—them.”
“Guess I’m not sleepin’—to-night.”
“No—I suppose not.”
The Padre looked into the strong young face with a speculative glance.