“Ther’s fire we know, an’ fire we don’t. Guess we best take the fire we know.”
They continued to gaze out across the lake in silence after that. Then the Padre spoke again.
“What about the horses?” he asked.
The question seemed to trouble Buck, for he suddenly caught his breath. But, in a moment, his answer came with decision.
“Guess they must take their chances,” he said. “Same as we have to. I hate to leave him, but Cæsar’s got sense.”
“Yes.”
The Padre’s eyes were fixed upon one spot on the surface of the water. It was quite plain, even in that light, that a seething turmoil was going on just beneath it. He pointed at the place, but went on talking of the other things in his mind.
“Say, you best take this pocketbook. We may get separated before the night’s out. It’s half the farm money. You see—ther’s no telling,” he ended up vaguely.
For one instant Buck removed his eyes from the surface of the lake to glance at the snow-white head of his friend. Then he reached out and took the pocketbook.