"Say, Dick," said the veteran rancher after an hour that seemed like a year, "I'm goin' to investigate."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm a-goin' up and have a look inside an' see what's happenin'."
"I don't know, Billee—they might spot you and let ride with some lead."
"Don't worry about that, Dick. They'll never know I'm there. Now you wait here an' I'll be right back."
"Well, for the love of Pete, be careful! We don't want anything to go wrong."
"Nothin's goin' wrong. Now you wait."
Billee Dobb moved softly in the direction of the ranch house, walking so easily it seemed as though he were stepping on wool. Unlike most other punchers, who spend most of their time on horseback, Billee was exceptionally surefooted. Much tramping about the country did that for him, and there were some who said he had been active in Indian warfare, long ago. He would be the first to deny this, however, as it would add too much to his age.
So while Dick waited impatiently, the rancher went toward the house, shoulders low, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. The distance between the house and where Dick was waiting was not far, but it was all open, and with the moon lighting up the scene almost like day, a person crossing might be easily seen.
Nearer and nearer Billee crept. Dick could see him picking his way like a dancer, so that he might step on no branch or twig which would break and give him away. Now he was almost at the side of the house. Dick saw him lean forward and cautiously peer in the window.