Racing around a thicket of scrub oak, he caught sight of Gowan more than an eighth of a mile ahead. He whistled repeatedly. At last Gowan twisted about in the saddle, and drew rein. He did not turn back, but made Ashton come all the way to him.
“Well, what’s wanted?” he demanded.
“Cream,” panted Ashton. “Miss Chuckie says––tell Yuki.”
“Shore pop, I’ll bring all there is,” replied Gowan. Ashton started back. “Hold on,” said the puncher. “I want to say something to you, and here’s the chance.”
“What is it?”
“About him. I want you to keep a mighty close watch tonight.”
“But you said that the murderer would not––”
“Bah! What does he count in this deal? It’s this engineer. I’ve been chewing it over all afternoon. Miss Chuckie is as innocent and trusting as a lamb, 276 spite of her winterings in Denver, and she’s plumb locoed over him, reading so much about him in the reports.”
“Still, it does not necessarily follow––”
“Don’t it, though!” broke in the puncher. “Guess you didn’t find it any funnier than I did seeing her hanging onto his shoulder.”