kness, eyed his
companion with occasional sidelong glances, speculating as to what he
wanted with him. He quite understood that his companion was not
walking with him for the pleasure of his company. On his part Tresler
was wondering how much he ought to tell this man--almost a
stranger--of what he had seen. He felt that some one ought to
know--some one with more experience than himself. He felt certain that
the stealthy visit of the two horsemen was not wholesome. Such
espionage pointed to something that was not quite open and aboveboard.

They reached the corrals, and Joe deposited his burden upon the wooden
wall. Then he turned sharply on his companion.

"Wal, out wi' it, man," he demanded. "Guess you got something you're
wantin' to git off'n your chest."

Tresler laughed softly. "You're pretty sharp, Joe."

"Pretty sharp, eh?" returned the little man. "Say, it don't need no
razor to cut through the meanin' of a 'tenderfoot.' Wal?"

Tresler was looking up at the saddle. It was a small, almost skeleton
saddle, such as, at one time, was largely used in Texas; that was
before the heavier and more picturesque Mexican saddles came into
vogue among the ranchmen.

"What does Jake want that for?" he asked.

His question was an idle one, and merely put for the sake of gaining
time while he arrived at a definite decision upon the other matter.

"Guess it's fer some feller to ride to-morrow--eh? Whew!"

The choreman broke off and whistled softly. Something had just
occurred to him. He measured Tresler with his eye, and then looked at
the short-seated saddle with its high cantle and tall, abrupt horn in
front. He shook his head.

Tresler was not heeding him. Suddenly he stopped and sat on the
ground, propping his back against the corral wall, while he looked up
at Joe.

"Sit down," he said seriously; "I've got something rather particular I
want to talk about. At least, I think it's particular, being a
stranger to the country."

Without replying, Joe deposited himself on the ground beside his new
acquaintance. His face was screwed up into the expression Tresler had
begun to recognize as a smile. He took a chew of tobacco and prepared
to give his best attention.

"Git goin'," he observed easily.

"Well, look here, have we any near neighbors?"

"None nigher than Forks--'cep' the Breeds, an' they're nigh on six
mile south, out toward the hills. How?"

Then Tresler told him what he had seen at the edge of the pin