“Ah! Doin’ night-guard? Say, I’d see blind hulk roastin’ ’fore I’d hang on to them beasties. But it’s like you, Arizona. You hate him wuss’n hell, an’ Jake too, yet you’d—pshaw! So long. Guess I’d best get on. I’ve got nigh forty miles to do ’fore I git back.”
And he rode away, careless, thoughtless, in the midst of a very real danger. And it was the life they all led. They asked for a wage, a bunk, and grub; nothing else mattered.
Tresler had developed a feeling that the whole thing was a matter of form rather than dead earnest, that he had been precipitate in sending his message to the sheriff. He wanted to get back to the ranch. He understood only too well how he had furthered Jake’s projects, and cursed himself bitterly for having been so easily duped. He was comfortably out of the way, and the foreman would take particularly good care that he should remain so as long as possible. Arizona, too, had become anything but enlivening. He went about morosely and snapped villainously at the boys. There was no word in answer to the message to the sheriff. They daily searched the bluff for some sign, but without result, and Tresler was rather glad than disappointed, while Arizona seemed utterly without opinion on the matter.
The third night produced a slight shock for Tresler. It was midnight, and one of the boys roused him for his watch. He sat up, and, to his astonishment, found Arizona sitting on a log beside him. He waited until the boy had gone to turn in, then he looked at his friend inquiringly.
“What’s up?”
And Arizona’s reply fairly staggered him. “Say, Tresler,” he said, in a tired voice, utterly unlike his usual forceful manner, “I jest wanted to ast you to change ‘watches’ wi’ me. I’ve kind o’ lost my grip on sleep. Mebbe I’m weak’nin’ some. I ’lows I’m li’ble to git sleepy later on, an’ I tho’t, mebbe, ef I wus to do the fust watch—wal, y’ see, I guess that plug in my chest ain’t done me a heap o’ good.”
Tresler was on his feet in an instant. It had suddenly dawned on him that this queer son of the prairie was ill.
“Rot, man!” he exclaimed. His tone in no way hid his alarm. They were at the gate of the big corral, hidden in the shadow cast by the high wall of lateral logs. “You go and turn in. I’m going to watch till daylight.”
“Say, that’s real friendly,” observed the other, imperturbably. “But it ain’t no use. Guess I couldn’t sleep yet.”
“Well, please yourself. I’m going to watch till daylight.” Tresler’s manner was quietly decided, and Arizona seemed to accept it.