“I jest met Dale down in the woods with his pet cougar. He's after you. I'm goin' to help him git you safe away. Now you do your part. I want you to pretend you've gone crazy. Savvy? Act out of your head! Shore I don't care what you do or say, only act crazy. An' don't be scared. We're goin' to scare the gang so I'll hev a chance to sneak you away. To-night or to-morrow—shore.”
Before he began to speak she was pale, sad, dull of eye. Swiftly, with his words, she was transformed, and when he had ended she did not appear the same girl. She gave him one blazing flash of comprehension and nodded her head rapidly.
“Yes, I understand. I'll do it!” she whispered.
The outlaw turned slowly away with the most abstract air, confounded amid his shrewd acting, and he did not collect himself until half-way back to his comrades. Then, beginning to hum an old darky tune, he stirred up and replenished the fire, and set about preparation for the midday meal. But he did not miss anything going on around him. He saw the girl go into her shelter and come out with her hair all down over her face. Wilson, back to his comrades, grinned his glee, and he wagged his head as if he thought the situation was developing.
The gambling outlaws, however, did not at once see the girl preening herself and smoothing her long hair in a way calculated to startle.
“Busted!” ejaculated Anson, with a curse, as he slammed down his cards. “If I ain't hoodooed I'm a two-bit of a gambler!”
“Sartin you're hoodooed,” said Shady Jones, in scorn. “Is thet jest dawnin' on you?”
“Boss, you play like a cow stuck in the mud,” remarked Moze, laconically.
“Fellars, it ain't funny,” declared Anson, with pathetic gravity. “I'm jest gittin' on to myself. Somethin's wrong. Since 'way last fall no luck—nothin' but the wust end of everythin'. I ain't blamin' anybody. I'm the boss. It's me thet's off.”
“Snake, shore it was the gurl deal you made,” rejoined Wilson, who had listened. “I told you. Our troubles hev only begun. An' I can see the wind-up. Look!”