“I’m not worried, Mac, but he must know something or he wouldn’t be arresting us. That’s a cinch.”
“He knows a little, an’ guesses a lot more, an’ figures probably that there’s a quitter among us. That’s where his case will break down. All we’ve got to do is to keep mum. In a week or so we’ll be ridin’ the range again.”
“Yes,” agreed Larry, but without conviction.
CHAPTER XVII
PADLOCKED LIPS
YET though the public was in a measure prepared there was a gasp of surprise when the word spread that Sheriff Matson had arrested and brought to Wagon Wheel six cattlemen from the Hill Creek district. McCoy and Rogers were so well and favourably known that the charge of murder against them set tongues buzzing far and wide. Yerby had not been so long in the district, but he, too, bore the best of reputations. By reason of his riding and his gay good-fellowship Larry Silcott was a favourite with the young people. In the cattle country, where he was best known, Jack Cole’s character was as good as a letter of credit. Of the six, Falkner alone bore a rather doubtful reputation.
When the news of the arrests reached the Dude Ranch, Ruth was out on the mesa doing a sketch of the sunset. She was not really painting to any purpose, but had come out to be alone. It had been a wonderful autumn day of purple hills and drifting mists that wrapped the cañons in a gossamer scarf of gray. Just below the mesa the valley lay in a golden harmony of colour beneath a sky soft with rain clouds. It was a picture that just now filled Ruth with deep peace. The brush lay idle in her fingers, and on the face of the girl was a soft and rapt exaltation.
She had a secret. Sometimes it filled her with a wild and tremulous delight. Again she stood before it with awe and even terror. More than once in the night she had found herself weeping with poignant self-pity. There were hours when her whole soul cried out for Rowan, and others when she hated him with all the passionate intensity of her untutored heart. Life, which had been so familiar and easy, took on strange and inexplicable phases. She had become a mystery to herself.
A chill wind from the snow peaks swept the mesa. Ruth gathered up her belongings and walked back to the house. She slipped in quietly by the back door, intent on reaching her room unnoticed. As she passed the door of the big lounging room the voice of Tim Flanders boomed out: