Then he thought of Pideau himself. He knew Pideau would resent intrusion; his intrusion more than anyone’s. His life in the doubtful shelter of Pideau’s home had taught him so much of the man. The half-breed’s veneer of tolerance was very thin. The man was desperately suspicious, too. He was suspicious of his own sister, Luana, and certainly contemptuously suspicious of himself. The only person who enjoyed his trust was Annette.
The Wolf was under no illusion. He knew well enough his sudden confronting of Pideau in his hiding would most certainly bring down an outburst of the man’s savagery upon his head.
So he set out for the pathway upon which he had decided.
From behind a leafy screen the Wolf surveyed the scene of the clearing. He was spying now, and he knew it. For the first time in his life he was using his hunter’s skill to discover Pideau’s secrets.
The clearing was small. It was just that area which had been sufficient to supply the necessary building materials for the small hut and the corrals which occupied it. The hut with its gaping doorway occupied the northern side. And facing it, in the centre stood three small corrals. Beyond these, at the southern extremity, stood the remains of a half-consumed stack of hay.
For the rest there was the smoulder of a dying camp fire before the doorway of the hut. And littered about it were the cooking chattels which had served their purpose. A saddled pony, streaked with sweat, and with its flanks badly tuckered, was hungrily feeding hay near by.
But the Wolf, in his hiding, had eyes for none of these details. It was the corrals, and the cattle they contained, and the hurried movements of the man who was feeding them, that held his interest.
The number of cattle staggered the boy. From where he stood it was impossible to estimate their numbers accurately as they surged and crowded for the hay that was being flung to them. Roughly, he thought there must be at least fifty. Pideau had stolen and driven fifty head of steers and milch cows from the plains single-handed! The fact was almost unbelievable. Never in his life had the Wolf known Pideau to attempt so large a haul.
From the cattle the Wolf turned to the half-breed himself. And if the former had inspired amazement, the latter startled him even more.
Pideau’s every movement told of haste and something else. He almost ran on his journeys between the hay and the corrals. Every now and then his dusky, bearded face was turned, and the Wolf could see its expression. Anxiety was written in every line of it.