Johnny Ramsay picked up his reins, wheeled his pony, and fox-trotted away. He felt that further accompanying of Loudon was unnecessary. The danger of an ambush was past. Riding with Loudon had taken Ramsay some fifteen miles out of his way, and twenty-five long miles lay between his pony's nose and the corral bars of the Cross-in-a-box ranch. But Ramsay wasted not a thought on his lengthened journey. He would have ridden cheerfully across the territory and back again in order to benefit a friend.
"Come on, fellah," said Loudon, when Ramsay had gone.
The chestnut moved off at a walk. Loudon did not hurry him. He took out his papers and tobacco and rolled a cigarette with neatness and despatch. Tilting back his head, he blew the first lungful of smoke straight up into the air.
"It wouldn't be right for her to marry him," he observed. "She shore is one pretty girl. I wonder now if I have got any chance. She's rich, an' I ain't, but I shore do love her a lot. Kate Loudon—that's a right nice-soundin' name."
He lowered his head and smoked silently for several minutes. The horse, reins on his neck, swung along steadily.
"Ranger fellah," said Loudon, "she'd ought to be willin' to wait till we make a stake, oughtn't she now? That's right. Wiggle one ear for yes. You know, don't yuh, old tiger-eye?"
When the lights of the ranch sparked across the flat, Ranger pointed his ears, lifted his head, and broke into a foxtrot. Passing the ranch house, on his way to the corral, Loudon heard the merry tinkle of a guitar. Through an open window Loudon saw the squat figure of Mr. Saltoun bent over a desk. On the porch, in the corner where the hammock hung, flickered the glowing tip of a cigarette. With a double thrum of swept strings the guitar-player in the hammock swung from "The Kerry Dance" into "Loch Lomond."
Loudon swore under his breath, and rode on.
Jimmy, the cook, and Chuck Morgan, one of the punchers, were lying in their bunks squabbling over the respective merits of Texas and New Mexico when Loudon entered the bunkhouse. Both men immediately ceased wrangling and demanded letters.
"I ain't read 'em all yet," replied Loudon, dropping his saddle and bridle in a corner. "Wait till to-morrow."