"I told Carroll and Martin and one or two more to tell you."
"I guess they're suspicious of any but the mountain people," said Bob. "They're right. How could they know?"
"That's right, they couldn't," agreed George reluctantly. "But I done told them you was my friend. And I thought you'd gone back on me sure."
"Not an inch!" cried Bob, heartily.
George kicked the logs of the fire together, filled the coffee pot at the creek, hung it over the blaze, and squatted on his heels. Bob tossed him a sack of tobacco which he caught.
"Thought you were bound for Mexico," hazarded Bob at length.
"I went," said Pollock shortly, "and I came back."
"Yes," said Bob after a time.
"Homesick," said Pollock; "plain homesick. Wasn't so bad that-a-way at first. I was desp'rit. Took a job punching with a cow outfit near Nogales. Worked myself plumb out every day, and slept hard all night, and woke up in the morning to work myself plumb out again."
He fished a coal from the fire and deftly flipped it atop his pipe bowl. After a dozen deep puffs, he continued: