from the bridge of his nose to the top of his left eye?” Fossum asked eagerly.
“I believe he did,” Chet replied, but he was aware that Al Biggers had given his companion a vicious kick on the shin under the table.
“Yuh musta been mistaken in the name, stranger,” Biggers said. “That feller’s name was Johnson, not Harrison. He ain’t there now.”
Chet knew that no more was to be got out of the men, but he had heard enough to know that there was something queer at the I X L ranch, toward which Bud Harrison and his sister were headed. It was none of his business, he knew; and he had made it a lifelong practice to let other people’s affairs alone with great diligence. Nevertheless, he didn’t like the idea of a girl and a mere boy going alone and unprotected into a known outlaw country, and he had a reasonable excuse for taking the same trail through the mountains.
“I think I’ll just act on that tip you boys gave me,” he said softly. “Reckon, I’ll start for that Highriver country first thing in the mornin’.”
“Yuh’ll never regret it, stranger,” Al Biggers said fervently. Chet could see the gleam of satisfaction in their eyes. They were too drunk to conceal their animation; yet not drunk enough to overlook any bets.
“I gotta go to Bishop Carey’s place tonight, so I may not see you boys again,” he remarked.
“Oh, yuh’ll see us again—be shore o’ that.” Biggers laughed. “But let’s hoist one.”
They had a final drink, and Chet took his departure.
On his buying trips Chet always rode his own private horse, a long-legged, raw-boned gray with a blazed face and two “glass” eyes; an animal with an abundance of speed, and capable of covering from fifty to seventy-five miles day after day without undue fatigue. He called the horse Mike.
No sooner was Chet out of town than he altered his course and worked back to the narrow wagon road which led to Penoloa canyon, the route which he had been told to take. It was all open country so far as fences were concerned, and he kept outside of the road. He let Mike out at a spanking trot until he reached the mouth of the canyon. Here the country was covered with brush and small trees.
He drew his mount to a halt as he saw the buckboard containing the Harrisons and their guide winding up the canyon less than a quarter of a mile distant. As they disappeared around a bend he forced his horse deep into a thicket beside the road, and dismounted where the animal was well out of sight; but where Chet himself could keep an eye upon the road.
Within an hour his vigil was rewarded. Al Biggers and Jack Fossum came shacking along at the familiar jog trot of the range. They seemed hilariously happy.
The corners of Chet Kelvin’s mouth crinkled in a somewhat grim smile. He bore no particular malice against his erstwhile boon companions of short acquaintance, but they had told him they meant to proceed in the opposite direction, and now they were going back the way they had come. He thought he knew the reason why.
Then, suddenly, his face became more serious. He had remembered the people in the buckboard ahead. If Biggers and Fossum were, as he had reason to believe, members of the notorious gang of Wild Ones, would they not be liable to attempt a robbery of the other party?
When the two riders had passed on out of sight he led Mike out of the brush, mounted, and proceeded slowly up the canyon.
TWO
LEDA HARRISON had become somewhat impatient back in Curryville over her brother’s delay in reaching the buckboard when they were ready to start. She was pacing nervously back and forth beside the rig when he arrived.
“Bud, don’t you realize that we haven’t any time to waste?” she scolded. “Nevada says it will be dark now before we reach the place where he wants to camp.”
“I was only a minute late,” Bud defended. “I was just talking to that cattle buyer. I thought he might have heard something about Charley.”
“Had he?” the girl asked eagerly.
“No; but he said he was heading for Highriver, too, and I invited him to camp with us.”
“You shouldn’t have done that, Bud,” the sister reproved. “This country is beginning to frighten me. It makes me more than ever certain that something is wrong with Charley.”
“You cain’t be too careful who yuh pick up with, miss,” the garrulous old guide chirped. “They say the Wild Ones roams these here parts considerable, an’ yuh never kin tell who they are, an’ when yuh’ll meet up with ’em.”
“But this man is a stranger in the country. He couldn’t belong to the Wild Ones,” Bud insisted.
“You can’t be sure of anything,” Leda declared. “But there’s one thing I’m beginning to be afraid of, and that is that these Wild Ones, as they call themselves, have—have murdered Charley, and stolen his ranch.” In spite of her efforts to maintain her self-control, the girl’s voice broke. “Otherwise we’d have heard something about him by this time.”
“Aw, Charley’s all right—he’s just been too busy to write,” Bud maintained.
Nevada began to whistle to himself in a way which expressed skepticism plainer than words. He had already told the Harrisons that he believed they were upon a wild-goose chase.
“Will you please get started?” Leda urged, half angrily.
“Oh, shore—jest waitin’ fer you-all tuh git located,” Nevada said cheerfully.
They all three had to squeeze into the one seat of the buckboard, for the long, narrow back of the vehicle was piled high with their camp impedimenta. Leda had chosen to buy their own outfit in preference to depending upon getting meals and lodging in the few remote villages and towns along their way. She had been told that few of them boasted a hotel.
The saving of money also was an important item now. Back in New York state the Harrison family had been an old and respected one. Never extremely wealthy, they had yet managed until recently to escape any privations due to poverty.
Then, just five months ago, Mrs. Harrison had died, following her husband to the grave within two months. Every effort had been made to locate the oldest son, who had gone West five years before, but without avail. Shortly after the funeral the family lawyer had notified Leda that her father had suffered financial reverses, and that even the house and furniture would have to be sold. When the estate was settled less than a thousand dollars remained.
It was then that Leda and Bud had determined to find Charley. Their gay, handsome brother had been home several times after he had gone to the West. He had had plenty of money, and boasted loudly of his big ranch. Young, impressionable Bud had fairly worshiped this big, swashbuckling brother. Leda, too, had thought him wonderful; but lately she recalled that her parents had retired from society about the time Charley had first left New York. And they had not seemed greatly impressed by Charley’s display of wealth. Despite their own reverses they had refused to accept the money he had offered them. But this Leda had attributed to their stubborn pride. She believed that their lives had been shortened because of financial worries.
The girl was of a practical mind. Charley had money, and if he was dead she knew that she and Bud were his heirs, unless he had married. It was Charley she
