“There he goes along the Rim,” observed Colter. “He doesn’t act leary. Looks like a good sign to me. Mebbe the Isbels have gone the other way.”
“Looks bad to me,” rejoined Springer, gloomily.
“An’ why?” demanded Colter.
“I seen thet animal. Fust time I reckoned it was a lofer. Second time it was right near them Isbels. An’ I’m damned now if I don’t believe it’s thet half-lofer sheep dog of Gass Isbel’s.”
“Wal, what if it is?”
“Ha! ... Shore we needn’t worry about hidin’ out,” replied Springer, sententiously. “With thet dog Jean Isbel could trail a grasshopper.”
“The hell y’u say!” muttered Colter. Manifestly such a possibility put a different light upon the present situation. The men grew silent and watchful, occupied by brooding thoughts and vigilant surveillance of all points. Somers slipped off into the brush, soon to return, with intent look of importance.
“I heerd somethin’,” he whispered, jerking his thumb backward. “Rollin’ gravel—crackin’ of twigs. No deer! ... Reckon it’d be a good idee for us to slip round acrost this bench.”
“Wal, y’u fellars go, an’ I’ll watch heah,” returned Colter.
“Not much,” said Somers, while Springer leered knowingly.