“Go to hell, will yuh? Maple syrup.”
They smoked and joked for an hour, but there was no sign of life around the ranch-house. Another hour passed, before any one showed up. Then it was Hank North. He went from the ranch-house to the stable, and in a few minutes Terry Ione followed him.
“They’re rollin’ the buckboard out from under the shed,” observed Bad News. “That means Kendall Marsh is goin’ to town.”
The two men hitched up the team and tied it to the corral fence.
Then another man left the ranch-house, wearing a gray suit. It wasn’t Kendall Marsh.
“That’s Alden,” said Bad News. “I know his walk. He’s packin’ a valise, ain’t he. I wonder if he’s goin’ away? Mebbe the old man’s takin’ him to Los Angeles. Be a good thing for the valley, and it might be a good thing for the kid.”
Cultus said nothing. They saw Terry and Hank bring out two saddled horses, and then Mac Rawls and Kendall Marsh walked together down to the buckboard. They all stood around and talked for several minutes, and then Kendall Marsh and his son got in the buckboard. North and Ione mounted the horses, riding toward the gate, with the buckboard trailing. Mac Rawls waved at them and walked back to the house.
Cultus and Bad News stretched out behind the brush and watched them go past. It was the first time either of them had ever seen Alden Marsh dressed in anything except cowboy garb. He was driving the team and was in earnest conversation with his father. Hank North and Terry Ione were not talking, when they rode past. Cultus and Bad News watched them disappear around a far curve before they left their place of concealment.
Cultus yawned as he led the way back to the horses.
“That’s what happens when yuh get up in the middle of the night,” said Bad News chuckling. “Yuh get all frayed out.”