“So you and him are goin’ to team it?
That’ll be high times! Come here, Bud.
Look at Andy Lanning. That’s him on the
horse right before you.”
A scared, round face peered out at Andrew from behind
his mother. “All right, partner. I’ll
tell you where to find him pretty close. He’ll
be up the gulch along about now. You know the
old shack up there? You can get to him inside
three hours—with that hoss.”
She stopped and eyed Sally. “Is that the
one that run Gray Peter to death? She don’t
look the part, but them long, low hosses is deceivin’.
Can’t you stay, Andy? Well, s’long.
And give Allister a good word from Bess Baldwin.
Luck!”
He waved, and was gone at a brisk gallop.
It was not yet noon when he entered the gulch, he
was part way up the ravine when something moved at
the top of the high wall to his right. He guessed
at once that it was a lookout signaling the main party
of the approach of a stranger, so Andrew stopped Sally
with a word and held his hand high above his head,
facing the point from which he had seen the movement.
There was a considerable pause; then a man showed on
the top of the cliff, and Andrew recognized Jeff Rankin
by his red hair. Yet they were at too great a
distance for conversation, and after waving a greeting,
Rankin merely beckoned Andrew on his way up the valley.
Around the very next bend of the ravine he found the
camp. It was of the most impromptu character,
and the warning of Rankin had caused them to break
it up precipitately, as Andrew could see by one length
of tarpaulin tossed, without folding, over a saddle.
Each of the four was ready, beside his horse, for
flight or for attack, as their outlook on the cliff
should give signal. But at sight of Andrew and
the bay mare a murmur, then a growl of interest went
among them. Even Larry la Roche grinned a skull-like
welcome, and Henry Allister actually ran forward to
receive the newcomer. Andrew dropped out of the
saddle and shook hands with him.
“I’ve done as you said I would,”
said Andrew. “I’ve run in a circle,
Allister, and now I’m back to make one of you,
if you still want me.”
Allister, laughing joyously, turned to the other three
and repeated the question to them. There was
only one voice in answer.
“Want you?” said Allister, and his smile
made Andrew almost forget the scar which twisted the
otherwise handsome face. “Want you?
Why, man, if we’ve been beyond the law up to
this time, we can laugh at the law now. Sit down.
Hey, Scottie, shake up the fire and put on some coffee,
will you? We’ll take an hour off.”
Larry la Roche was observed to make a dour face.
“Who’ll tell me it’s lucky,”
he said, “to have a gent that starts out by
makin’ us all stop on the trail? Is that
a good sign?”
But Scottie, with laughter, hushed him. Yet Larry
la Roche remained of all the rest quite silent during
the making of the coffee and the drinking of it.
The others kept up a running fire of comments and
questions, but Larry la Roche, as though he had never
forgiven Andrew for their first quarrel, remained
with his long, bony chin dropped upon his breast and
followed the movements of Andrew Lanning with restless
eyes.
