He was traveling now in a cloud of dust. And it was this, no doubt, which accounted for the fact that he did not see a buckboard drawn by an aged mule until he heard a shout, and his horses swung off the trail of their own accord. Quick as lightning he drew them up with a violent curse.
“What in hell––!” he roared. But he broke off suddenly as the dust began to clear, and he saw the yellow-headed figure of Scipio seated in the buckboard, with Vada beside him, just abreast of him.
“Mackinaw!” he cried. “What you doin’ out here?”
So startled was the gambler at the unexpected vision that he made no attempt to even guess at Scipio’s purpose. He put his question without another thought behind it.
Scipio, whose mule had jumped at the opportunity of discontinuing its laborious effort, and was already reaching out at the grass lining the trail, passed a hand across his brow before answering. It was as though he were trying to fix in his mind the reason of his own presence there.
“Why,” he said hesitatingly, “why, I’m out after a––a prospect I heard of. Want to get a peek at it.”
The latter was said with more assurance, and he smiled vaguely into his friend’s face.
But Bill had gathered his scattered wits, and had had time to think. He nodded at little Vada, who was interestedly staring at the satin coats of his horses.
“An’ you takin’ her out to help you locate it?” he inquired, with a raising of his shaggy brows.
“Not just that,” Scipio responded uncomfortably. He found it curiously difficult to lie with Bill’s steady eyes fixed on him. “Y’see––Say, am I near ten miles out from the camp?”