catches us out from the Spout. Still an' all"
The outlaw was uncomfortable in the face of a mystery—perhaps a trivial matter of wayfarers who had lost their mounts, perchance something of graver import. Zang Whistler's instinct of protection did not permit him to leave unexplained any untoward circumstance in close proximity to his retreat.
"Reckon we 'll just swing over toward that fire an' see what we can see."
They swerved from their trail accordingly. Fifteen minutes' riding brought them to the top of a small rise perhaps two hundred yards away from the fire. They could distinguish two figures in the firelight, both close to the ground.
"If you 'll just stick here," Zang suggested, "I 'll ease up closer an' get a line on things. Don't be scared. I 'll not mix into any gun play if they 're not our kind—not with you along. If you hear me whistle come on."
He gave her the rope of the led horse and dismounted. With his bridle over his arm and his little horse carefully picking its steps after his, Zang disappeared. Hilma noted that he carried his .45 in his hand.
