“I reckon,” he said, “I’m a-ridin’ th’ wrong trail. I hain’t expected hyar.”
And turning abruptly, without another word, he jogged away around the house and started down the long slope already greying with the coming night.
The foreman and the five punchers clamped over to the corner of the kitchen and watched him in speculative silence. Tharon came along and stood by Billy, her hand on the boy’s arm. To Billy that sober touch confused the distances, set the strange rider dancing on the slope.
“H’m,” said Conford, his grey eyes narrow, “come from far an’s goin’ somewheres. I’ll watch that duck. He looks like he’s a record man to me.”
At supper there was much speculation about the stranger. 44
“I’ll lay a month’s pay he come from Texas,” said Billy, casting a side glance at his pal Curly, “them long lankys usually do. An’ somehow it shows in their eyes, sort o’ fierce an’––”
“Billy,” said Tharon severely, “if I was Curly I’d take a fall out of you. He can do it, you know that an’ I know it.”
“Thanks, Miss Tharon,” said Curly in his soft Southern drawl, “if you feel that-a-way about it, w’y, I don’t care what no little yellow-headed whipper-snapper from up Wyomin’ way says to th’ contrary.”
Billy was a bit abashed, but he stubbornly supported his contention that the stranger was a bad-man from Texas.
“Plenty bad-men right here in Lost Valley,” said the girl quietly, “an’ th’ breed ain’t dyin’ out as I can see. Th’ settlers need a new leader––now that Jim Last’s gone.” And she fell to playing absently with her fork upon the cloth.