Noiselessly, he slipped back to his horse and swung into the saddle. As Yellow Hammer scuffed along the dusty trail at a running walk, Tad raised his voice in song to herald his coming. He rightly guessed that his approach would, for a few moments, so startle Kipp that the old sheriff would not have time to beat a retreat until Tad was too close.
“Sam Bass was born in Indiana, it was his native home,
And at the age of seventeen young Sam begun to roam.
Sam fust come to Texas, a cowboy fer to be,
A kinder hearted feller, you seldom ever see.”
The words of the old range song came in full-toned, discordant abandon as Tad rode into the clearing.
From the brush, Kipp’s horse nickered and this time Tad allowed Yellow Hammer to give answer.
“Whoa, geldin’,” mumbled Tad, loud enough for Kipp to hear. “Looks like we got company. Halloo, pardner. Come out so’s we kin read yore brand.”
A second of silence, then Kipp stepped into sight. The sheriff’s bushy white brows bristled in a frown of annoyance. Yet Tad was certain that the old fellow looked relieved. He eyed Tad with suspicion. “He’s wonderin’ if I’m suspectin’ him,” was Tad’s inward comment. Aloud he said with hearty pleasantness:
“Howdy, Sheriff. Yuh git bucked off er was yuh ketchin’ some shut-eye?”
“Dozin’ a spell,” lied Kipp. “What brings you out this time uh night on this trail?” Tad had not expected this question but his ready wit came to his rescue.