"Wal, by golly, thet's news to me.... Bostil, there's been strange doin's lately." Brackton seemed at a loss for words. "Mebbe Slone got out because of somethin' thet come off last night.... Now, Joel Creech an'—an'—"
Bostil waited to hear no more. What did he care about the idiot Creech? He strode down the lane to the corrals. Farlane, Van, and other riders were there, leisurely as usual. Then Holley appeared, coming out of the barn. He, too, was easy, cool, natural, lazy. None of these riders knew what was amiss. But instantly a change passed over them. It came because Bostil pulled a gun. "Holley, I've a mind to bore you!"
The old hawk-eyed rider did not flinch or turn a shade off color. "What fer?" he queried. But his customary drawl was wanting.
"I left you to watch Lucy.... An' she's gone!"
Holley showed genuine surprise and distress. The other riders echoed Bostil's last word. Bostil lowered the gun.
"I reckon what saves you is you're the only tracker thet'd have a show to find this cussed Slone."
Holley now showed no sign of surprise, but the other riders were astounded.
"Lucy's run off with Slone," added Bostil.
"Wal, if she's gone, an' if he's gone, it's a cinch," replied Holley, throwing up his hands. "Boss, she double-crossed me same as you! ... She promised faithful to stay in the house."
"Promises nothin'!" roared Bostil. "She's in love with this wild-hoss wrangler! She met him last night!"