Horace’s eyes stuck out like the tail lights on a freight caboose. “Oh, I’m sure it’s the same woman,” sez he. “Course she’s changed some; but we couldn’t all three be mistaken.”
“I still think it’s the same woman,” sez I; “but as far as all three not bein’ mistaken, the’s nothin’ to that. Half o’ the fellers who make bets are mistaken, and most of us make bets. Still I think she’s the same woman.”
In spite of this doubt, I was feelin’ purty comfortable. The other time we had been there, I hadn’t been able to think up any excuse as to why; but this time I felt I was in right and it left me free to enjoy the prospects of a little excitement. I allus try to be honest with myself; and when I’m elated up over anything, I generally aim to trail back my feelin’s to their exact cause. I’m bound to admit that when I’m certain that any trouble likely to arise will be thrust upon me in spite of my own moral conduct, I allus take a pleasant satisfaction in waitin’ for it.
The Friar slid his hoss down the bank o’ the ravine, and disappeared just a few moments before we saw the woman comin’ along the path from the clump of trees. We kept glancin’ up at the look-out now and again, but mostly we glued our eyes on the woman. Horace hogged the field glasses most o’ the time, but my eyes were a blame sight better ’n his, so I didn’t kick about it much.
When she reached the edge o’ the ravine, she paused and gave a little start. “Does she know him, Horace?” I sez.
“She don’t seem to,” sez Horace. “She’s speakin’ down at him; but her face looks as though she didn’t know him.”
“If it’s the wrong woman,” sez I, “I’m goin’ to start to the North Pole to locate the fool-killer.”
While I spoke, she started down the path slow and matter o’ fact; and me an’ Horace scuttled back to the look-out to be in time to see ’em come out at the bottom—providin’ the Friar went on with her.
We didn’t get there more ’n two minutes before they came out at the bottom; but it seemed a week. When they finally came into sight, the Friar was walkin’ an’ leadin’ his hoss, and she was walkin’ at his side about four feet from him with a big dog on each side of her. Just then we saw six Cross-branders ride in toward the corral.
“It looks calm an’ quiet,” drawled ol’ Tank, his free eye bouncin’ about like a rubber ball; “but I’ll bet two cookies again’ the hole in a doughnut that we have a tol’able fair sized storm before mornin’.”