a Dutch uncle to Cattle Kate."
"Dan Gustin mentioned her," Barrett said.
"Cowpunchers mostly do."
"What do you suppose she could tell a man that had money tied up in the Diamond Tail, Fred?"
"She could tell him who's rakin' in the chips, and why, if he could come up on the blind side of her."
"Cattle Kate," said Barrett, thoughtfully, as a man turning a trifling reminiscence in his mind.
"She knows who's ridin' the range for a hundred and fifty miles, when they come, where they go. Some say she's a spy for the rustlers—that's what these cattle barons say—but I don't know. Wouldn't be surprised if she was. All I know is a man's welcome to her door any hour of the day or night if he's hidin' out from the law."
"Bonita. That's the town I've heard the boys speak of, over by the post," said Barrett, in his reflective way.
"Twelve miles up the river from the ranch, squattin' on the edge of the military reservation like a louse."
They allowed the subject to close there, played out their hands, and went about the duties of the day. It was toward noon, when Fred Grubb, coming back to join his companion from an excursion into some far canyon for wild blackberries, reported that two men were approaching camp.
"One of 'em looks like old Manuel from the ranch," he said. "The other one's a stranger to me. You wasn't expectin' nobody, was you, kid?"
"Not a soul."
"Set down in your saddle, set down in your saddle!"
