"But you never see strangers."
"Don't I?"
"I'm askin', do you?" The voice of the older man was heavy and dominant. It occurred to Roberts that he had heard that voice before.
"Oh!" Unholy imps of mirth lurked in the alert eyes of the line-rider. "Once in a while I do—last Thursday, for instance."
The graceful, dark young man straightened as does a private called to attention. "A trapper, maybe?" he said.
The cowboy brought his level gaze back from a barefoot negro washing the floor. "Not this time. He was a rustler."
"How do you know?" The high voice of the questioner betrayed excitement.
"I caught him brandin' a calf. He waved me round. I beat him to the Box Cañon and saw him ridin' through."
"You saw him ridin' through? Where were you?" The startled eyes of the dark young man were fixed on him imperiously.
"From the bluff above."