Wylackie shook his head.
“Ain’t goin’ accordin’ to entry,” he said, “no more’n th’ cabin. Don’t see no signs of tillin’. He ain’t fencin’, nor goin’ to fence, as near as I can find out.”
“Cattle?”
“No. Nor horses.”
“Hogs, then?”
“No.”
“Damn it! maybe it’s sheep!” and the red flush rose in the bully’s dark cheeks.
“Don’t think so. Seems like he’s after somethin’, but what it is I can’t make out.”
But it was not long before the Stronghold solved the mystery, for Kenset rode boldly in one day and introduced himself.
It was mid-afternoon, for the cabin in the glade lay a long way from the Valley’s head, and the whole big place lay silent as death in the summer sun.