“After father an’ the Wolf are abed.”
“Right.” Fyles inclined his head. Then he spoke without harshness. But his eyes were hard and cold. “You need to be smart, Annette. I guess that won’t worry you. But I don’t want you to take a chance. If the Wolf shot up Sinclair he’s going to—hang.”
The man’s gaze was on the moonlit distance. He was not looking at the girl. But even so he was aware of the effect of his announcement. The little start under the heavy buffalo coat. The sudden widening of those beautiful black eyes. He saw these things out of the tail of his eye, and he noted the awe in the whisper that replied to him.
“Hang?”
“Sure. The Wolf’s going to hang—if he shot up Sinclair. That’s what I’m here for.”
The pinto cayuse bestirred. It threw up its head. Perhaps it was in reply to the snatch of the girl’s reins.
“I’ll be right along to-morrow night.” Annette’s voice was hard and cold. “An’ I’ll take no chance.”
The next moment the policeman was alone, gazing after the pinto pony which quickly lost itself against the snow.
For some thoughtful moments Fyles remained where the girl had left him. He sat there quite still gazing, gazing at the point where horse and rider had passed out of view. Then at last he lifted his reins, and the mud-brown mare eagerly responded. He shook his head.
“It’s too easy. It’s too darned easy.”