“Well, but you’ll take at least one of us along, won’t ya, Friar?” sez ol’ Tank. “Likely as not we wouldn’t take it up, nohow; but still if they made away with ya, we’d sort o’ like to know about it as early as possible, in order not to feel suspensed any longer ’n was necessary.”
“I should like to take one man along as a guide, as I am not entirely familiar with the trail from here,” sez the Friar, still talkin’ to us as though we were a lot of evil-lookin’ strangers. “If one of you were to go along until we came within sight o’ the ranch buildin’s—No, they might see him and get the idee that he had gone back to join a reserve body, and I do not wish them to have the slightest grounds for resorting to force on their side. I shall have to go alone.”
“I can see what you’ve been drivin’ at, now,” sez Tank, whose face was so muddled up that no one ever tried to read his thoughts in his features, and so he could lie with impunity. “Yes, I can see what you mean, now, and I got to own up ’at you’re right about it. Still, you know, Friar, we’re bound to worry about ya. How long do you want us to wait before we start to projectin’ around to get some news of ya?”
A look of relief came to the Friar’s face: “Why, if I don’t come back within a week,” sez he, “I haven’t any objections to your notifyin’ the legal authorities that you fear something has happened to me—but don’t make much fuss, for it doesn’t really matter.”
We all kicked about waitin’ a week, but finally compromised on five days as bein’ about the right interval to allow before notifyin’ the legal authorities. Then we advised the Friar to go down by the ravine as it would take him to the ranch by the back way where he wouldn’t be so likely to attract attention, especially from the dogs.
He asked Horace to ride with him until he could get a landmark; so Horace flung his saddle on a hoss an’ started along, while the rest of us made ready to go trout-fishin’, or take a snooze, or shake the cards, accordin’ to the way we generally amused ourselves when loafin’. The Friar turned back once on the pretense that he wanted to get a good drink o’ water before startin’; but he found us scattered out peaceful an’ resigned, so he headed away at good speed.
Horace took him the open road, while we went mostly through cuts, the way we had allus gone to our look-out. Our way was some the longer; but we pushed our hosses a little more, and made the look-out just as the Friar reached the point where the path went down into the ravine. Horace had agreed to do all he could to get the Friar to go up to the clump of bushes where the woman spent her afternoons, though he said he doubted if the Friar would do it.
I had the field glasses with me, and kept ’em on the Friar’s face when he paused to examine the spot and make sure he was right. He couldn’t see the ranch buildin’s from where he was, nor the path leadin’ to the clump of trees. I could see his face plain through the glasses, and he had taken the guy ropes off and let it sag into just the way he felt. It was filled with pain an’ sufferin’.
As soon as Horace came, he and I sneaked down to the bunch o’ big rocks from which we could see the path as it dipped from the opposite edge of the ravine, leavin’ the rest of the boys to watch the ranch buildin’s. We could see them from where we were, and they could see us, and we had a signal for us to come back, or them to come to us; and another that the Friar was gettin’ it bad down below, and to make a rush for him. We hadn’t seen any one about the buildin’s, except the Chinese cook. Our plan was to not rush the buildin’s right away, unless we saw the Friar gettin’ manhandled beyond his endurance. Horace said ’at the Friar had refused to go to the clump o’ trees to see the woman, as it might give the impression that she had sent word to him to meet her there, and he wouldn’t cast the slightest suspicion upon her name.
“Horace,” I said, as an awful fear struck me, “supposin’ after all, it ain’t the right woman!”