“How'd you figure it—if you was Snake Anson?” queried Roy, in reply.
“Depends on that rider from Magdalena,” said Dale, soberly. “Although it's likely I'd seen them wheel tracks an' hoss tracks made where we turned off. But supposin' he does.”
“Milt, listen. I told you Snake met us boys face to face day before yesterday in Show Down. An' he was plumb curious.”
“But he missed seein' or hearin' about me,” replied Dale.
“Mebbe he did an' mebbe he didn't. Anyway, what's the difference whether he finds out this mornin' or this evenin'?”
“Then you ain't expectin' a fight if Anson holds up the stage?”
“Wal, he'd have to shoot first, which ain't likely. John an' Hal, since thet shootin'-scrape a year ago, have been sort of gun-shy. Joe might get riled. But I reckon the best we can be shore of is a delay. An' it'd be sense not to count on thet.”
“Then you hang up here an' keep watch for Anson's gang—say long enough so's to be sure they'd be in sight if they find our tracks this mornin'. Makin' sure one way or another, you ride 'cross-country to Big Spring, where I'll camp to-night.”
Roy nodded approval of that suggestion. Then without more words both men picked up ropes and went after the horses. Helen was watching Dale, so that when Bo cried out in great excitement Helen turned to see a savage yellow little mustang standing straight up on his hind legs and pawing the air. Roy had roped him and was now dragging him into camp.
“Nell, look at that for a wild pony!” exclaimed Bo.