“I seen Jim was gittin' softy over her. Haw! Haw! Haw!”
But Snake Anson did not crack a smile. The atmosphere appeared not to be congenial for jokes, a fact Burt rather suddenly divined. Riggs and Moze returned from the promontory, the latter reporting that Shady Jones was riding up close. Then the girl walked slowly into sight and approached to find a seat within ten yards of the group. They waited in silence until the expected horseman rode up with water-bottles slung on both sides of his saddle. His advent was welcome. All the men were thirsty. Wilson took water to the girl before drinking himself.
“Thet's an all-fired hot ride fer water,” declared the outlaw Shady, who somehow fitted his name in color and impression. “An', boss, if it's the same to you I won't take it ag'in.”
“Cheer up, Shady. We'll be rustlin' back in the mountains before sundown,” said Anson.
“Hang me if that ain't the cheerfulest news I've hed in some days. Hey, Moze?”
The black-faced Moze nodded his shaggy head.
“I'm sick an' sore of this deal,” broke out Burt, evidently encouraged by his elders. “Ever since last fall we've been hangin' 'round—till jest lately freezin' in camps—no money—no drink—no grub wuth havin'. All on promises!”
Not improbably this young and reckless member of the gang had struck the note of discord. Wilson seemed most detached from any sentiment prevailing there. Some strong thoughts were revolving in his brain.
“Burt, you ain't insinuatin' thet I made promises?” inquired Anson, ominously.
“No, boss, I ain't. You allus said we might hit it rich. But them promises was made to you. An' it 'd be jest like thet greaser to go back on his word now we got the gurl.”