"Miller's, I reckon — mebbe some of Hiller's, from over the Divide."
"How many?"
"Hundred an' seventy-nine — strict count."
"Run them north tonight," directed Compton. "There won't be any moon. Take the east trail — that will take you past Hiller's far enough away so that his boys won't be able to see you if they're working the east basin."
"Correct," said the man. He rolled a cigarette, and while lighting it winked solemnly at the other men, Compton watching him. When he was sure Compton's gaze was upon him, and that Compton was expecting further speech from him, he said, slowly, as though speaking to the men at whom he was winking:
"Runnin' trail of nights is gittin' a heap monotonous. No excitement—no nothin'. If there was anybody around here could tell a man about when the stage company is figurin' to drag a load of dust through — that man would sure be listened to a whole lot eager. You don't happen to know a guy like that — do you, you grinnin' coyotes!"
Compton laughed. "You're wanting to take things too easy, Carter. That last haul we made has got you greedy."
"There's a lot more of the boys wettin' their lips over the notion, too," grinned Carter.
"Well," said Compton; "we'll know it when they ship some more. Val Davis ain't letting anything get away from him." He walked to the door of the bunkhouse and peered inside. Then he again turned to Carter.
"Where's Lefty Morgan?"
"Morgan ain't showin' hisself much these days," answered Carter. "He's spendin' a heap of his time gallivantin' around the country on that big black hoss of his'n. I was down in the east canon the other day, lookin' up strays. I rode roundabout, hittin' the big slope leadin' up to the level near the Three Bar ranchhouse; an' I seen a guy on a black hoss headin' toward me. I sure thought it was Beau Rand, an' I was gettin' ready to slope — when I took another peep an' seen it was Lefty Morgan on his black. That black sure looks enough like Rand's Midnight hoss to be him!"
Compton's eyes glowed; but he did not answer. Instead, he wheeled, told Kinney he wanted to talk with him, and followed by the gunfighter, he walked to the ranchhouse.
Carter grinned at Kinney's back. "That guy, Rand, now," he said to the others; "he's sure got 'em all fussed up! There's guys which is yappin' that Rand ain't got nerve enough to wipe a man out; but you notice none of the guys that's doin' the yappin' is runnin' in with Rand. There's somethin' about Rand that makes me meek for fair when I meets up with him!"
"Link will bust him wide open, some of these days!" growled a man near Carter.
"Well," grinned Carter; "he won't be askin' Slim Kinney how to do it, I reckon!"
It was later the next afternoon when Lefty Morgan, the Two Link range boss, rode up to the ranchhouse and slipped from his black horse. Compton met him on the porch.
"Well?" interrogated Compton.
Morgan, who was a short man with an energetic air and a squinting, quizzical eye, grinned faintly.
"He's sure a Simon-pure lover!" he said. "An' she sizes up plenty eager to have him. I watched them — as you told me; an I'm that used to crawlin' on my belly in the brush that there's times when I'm certain I'm a locoed side-winder. Anyhow, they've got thick. At first she held off quite considerable — him not makin' no progress. But within the last day or so, she's give in. An' this afternoon I seen them settin' close together on a log in the timber — Rand holdin' her hand an' speakin' gentle to her. What he was tellin' her must have tickled her a heap, for she was blushin' prodigious, an' not savin' anything."
"That's all," said Compton, shortly.
Chapter XX. "Liars — and Liars"
ELEANOR SEDDON had been making progress with Bud, and upon the day Morgan made his report to Compton, she had ridden to the Three Bar again.
Certain thoughts had troubled the lady today as she rode toward the Three Bar. Of late she had been aware of an eagerness that had seized her each morning when she had awakened in her room at the Bar S. That there was an attraction for her at the Three Bar, she knew, but until this morning she could not have told whether the attraction was Bud or the grave-faced man who had transferred the responsibility of Bud's training to her. But on this morning she had mercilessly applied the probe of self-analysis, and she had blushed many times during the ride.
For upon her — as a result of the analysis — had grown the conviction that Rand was the magnet that attracted her. To be sure, she loved Bud, and she had a sincere desire to direct his youthful thoughts into less profane channels; but she could no longer deny that upon those days when Rand absented himself — or when he was not at the Three Bar to greet her — she was afflicted with a regret that almost took the pleasure out of her teaching of Bud.
She knew she had been reluctant to admit the existence of that regret; but upon this morning she found herself hoping Rand would be at the Three Bar when she arrived — and then quite suddenly she realized that the Three Bar lacked something when Rand was absent.
It was a disturbing conviction, and upon this morning — when she admitted its existence — she blushed furiously. But she rode on, her eyes brighter than usual, as, nearing the ranchhouse, she scanned the buildings and the surrounding country.
But it was Bud and Aunt Betsey who greeted her when she dismounted near the front door; and for a time, as she sat on the porch talking with Aunt Betsey, she concealed her curiosity regarding Rand.
It was Aunt Betsey who told her that Rand had ridden to the big basin to see Larry Redfern. Likewise, it was Aunt Betsey who detected the gleam of disappointment in Eleanor's eyes when the information had been given.
And later, when Aunt Betsey went into the house, leaving Bud and Eleanor together on the porch, the good lady lingered for an instant near Uncle Ephraim, in the kitchen, smiling contentedly.
Uncle Ephraim threw a furtive glance over the rims of his glasses and noted the smile of his better half.
"Somethin' ticklin' you, I reckon?" he inquired insinuatingly.
Aunt Betsey laughed tremulously, and whispered into Ephraim's ear.
That gentleman sat erect, looking at her with wide-open mouth.
"You don't say!" he gasped.
"Eph!" she declared. "She's goin' to love him!"
Uncle Ephraim's eyes brightened. It was not a gleam of disbelief that came into them; it was a light that reflected a desire to be completely assured.
"Shucks," he grunted; "how do you know?"
She smiled gently. "I've got eyes, ain't I? An' there's signs. Eph," she added, mischievously; "I hate to admit it, but that Seddon girl acts toward Beaudry just like I used to feel toward you. When Beaudry's around her she's always watchin' him when he ain't lookin' at her — with a kind of yearnin' which is somethin' like the way a mother looks at a child; an' when he ain't around she looks plumb disappointed. An' twice, after I told her Beaudry'd gone to the big basin, she sighed."
Uncle Ephraim settled back into his chair, clearing his throat.
"Well," he said loyally; "she might do a heap worse. Beaudry's a chunk of dynamite which the right woman could mold into a hunk of putty, I reckon."
Unaware of the fact that the old people were discussing her, but feeling just a trifle lonesome despite the presence of Bud, Eleanor looked at her pupil with steady, counterfeit sternness.
"Bud," she said slowly; "you don't call the sorrel horse names any more — do you?"
"No!" declared Bud.
"You don't — er —' cuss' any more at all?"
"It ain't nice to