What he saw was sufficiently amazing. Halfway down the reverse slope, where a stunted pine grew beside a boulder, a man lay on his stomach. Loudon could see only his legs. The branches of the pine concealed the upper half of his body. At the bottom of the slope, outlined against a thicket of red sumac, Kate Saltoun, mounted on a black horse, was talking to the puncher Rudd.
The duplicity of woman! Loudon's first thought was that Kate was at her old-time tricks—flirting again. His second was that she was aiding the 88 in their nefarious practices.
What did it mean? Loudon, his eyes hard as gray flint, edged noiselessly backward, and sat up behind the outcrop. He signalled Laguerre by placing two fingers on his lips, pointing over his shoulder, and holding up one finger twice.
Then Loudon flattened his body at the corner of the outcrop, shoved his rule forward, and covered Rudd. Forefinger on trigger, thumb ready to cock the hammer, he waited.
He could not hear what the two by the sumac bushes were saying. They were fully a hundred yards distant. But it was evident by the way Kate leaned forward and tapped her saddle-horn that she was very much in earnest. Frequently Rudd shook his head.
Loudon heard a faint rustle at his side. He turned his head. Laguerre was crawling into position.
"Dunno who that sport under the pine is," whispered Loudon. "You take him anyhow, an' I'll take Rudd. Get 'em both without a shot. It's a cinch."
Suddenly, after a decidedly emphatic shake of Rudd's head, Kate's figure straightened, and she struck her saddle-horn a sharp blow with the flat of her hand. It was an action characteristic of Kate. She always employed it when annoyed.
Loudon smiled grimly. With an impatient tug Kate pulled a white object from her saddle-pocket and flung it at Rudd. Then she wheeled her horse on his hindlegs, jumped him ahead, and set off at a tearing run.
Rudd stooped to pick up the fallen white object, and Loudon opened his mouth to bawl a command when he was forestalled by the watcher under the pine.