Fred?" Barrett inquired, not able to account for the poet's opportune appearance with his shotgun.
"Manuel tipped it off to me. He helped me run them horses off. But I wasn't lookin' for 'em to start anything at the table, Findlay likes to eat when he's eatin' and fight when he's fightin'. That's why I kind of took my time. And I nearly bungled the job!"
"Did that Mexican Alvino stuck work for the Diamond Tail?"
Fred rode on a little way, looking very serious and sober. Presently he shook his head.
"No, that feller never worked here. Ed, that feller was side-pardner of the rustler you shot, I saw him sneakin' around down there when the boss sent me to pick up them remains and haul 'em in. Is there any needcessity for me to say more?"
"Not a bit."
Several miles again without words, Barrett with thoughts enough crowding his mind to make him oblivious to whatever danger might be behind them, Fred watching unremittingly for the first hat to show above the hill and grow suddenly into a man. The poet carried his shotgun across his shoulder, rather clumsily and uncomfortably.
"Well, I'm out of a job, Ed."
"It looks like I'm with you."
"What do you aim to do, kid?"
"They sent for me to come to the ranch."
To himself Barrett had answered the same question as he rode away from Eagle Rock camp. He was not going to stand around any longer and allow Nearing
