Cig took a step toward her, switch in hand. He stopped. A sound had reached him. Something was moving in the quaking asps.
Two men emerged along the winding trail. They were on horseback. The one riding in front was Jake Prowers, the other Don Black.
The tramp waved a hand at them. “Woilcome to our city,” he called, grinning toward them. “An’ look who’s here.”
Prowers pulled up. “What the jumpin’ Jehosaphat!” he exclaimed.
“I got lonesome, so I brought back comp’ny for myself,” explained Cig. It was plain that he was proud of himself.
“Where’d you get her?” asked Black.
“Down above Elk Creek?”
“Was she lost?”
“Lost!” The tramp snickered. “Not so you could notice it none. She was sittin’ in a car waitin’ for Clint Reed an’ that high-heeled goil of his to come back.”
“But—what’s she doing here?” inquired Black, still in the dark.