He went into the hotel and paid his bill; then he walked over to Grandy's to interview William. The latter was standing by the counter of the express department, tucking several letters and papers into the pocket of his coat and eying, with some concern, the package that lay in front of him. The store assistant was carrying out the provisions and putting them in the wagon.
"Just charge that extry express to Barton, Grandy," William was saying. "I ain't got a red with me."
"Sure," agreed Grandy.
"Are you from Tom Barton's ranch?" inquired Ruthven, stepping up to the cowboy.
The latter looked around, measured the speaker with keen eyes, and apparently was favorably impressed. "I am," he answered.
"My name's Ruthven"
The other's eye brightened. "Lewis Ruthven?" he asked.
"Yes. I reached town last night and want to get to the Musselshell. May I ride with you?"
"Well, I guess!" William backed away and continued to stare at Ruthven. "So you're the cimiroon that laid out Big Eph, huh? That bully and I come together oncet when I was down at the lower ranch, and I couldn't work for all of a week arterward. You backheeled him, they say, and tipped him headfirst into a water trough; then you pulled him out o' the trough and pounded his head agin' the side o' the cookhouse, cleanin' up on him complete. A lot of us didn't allow they was a man in Montana could do it. You're Emmet K.'s son, all right. Shake! My name's Martin, Bill Martin. I'm sure glad to meet up with the man that trimmed Big Eph."
This was the first intimation Ruthven had had that his differences with Big Eph had traveled so far. But he was glad, if the reports had won him the good will of Martin.
"He's right husky for an Easterner," remarked Grandy to Martin. "I reckoned Emmet K.'s son would be more pampered like, sort of run to seed with luxury and the good things o' life; but this man looks like the real goods."
Ruthven laughed. "Going right back to the ranch, Martin?" he queried.
"Right off. I got some boots here for the old man, and he's frettin' for 'em. I s'pose you got about three trunks, four grips, and a foldin' bathtub, hey? Git 'em loaded, then, and we'll hike."
"I'm traveling light this trip. All I've got with me is what I stand in."
"Bully for you! Come on!"
Martin picked up the package, took it out on the platform, and tossed it into the wagon. As it slammed into the wagon box, the startled bronchos made another attempt to get into the store and to climb the telegraph pole.
"Ain't it scandalous the way them critters act?" asked Martin m profound disgust. "I reckon we'll have to maneuver some in gittin' 'em unhitched and headed along the out trail. You climb in and take the lines while I cast off."
Ruthven obeyed. Martin got the hitching straps loose, and then, the instant they were freed and before he could get into the wagon, the team jumped for the middle of the street. They did not go far, however, before Ruthven stopped them by main strength. He did it so well that Martin complimented him in glowing terms and scrambled into the seat beside him.
"You'd nacherly think," said Martin, taking the reins, "that fifteen mile of runnin' from the ranch to town would smooth the kinks out of them; but no, they're just beginnin' to feel their oats. Keep your eye on the stuff in the rear and I'll let the cusses flicker. Hike, you heathens!" he added, with a yell, and away went the team on the jump.
At least three miles of trail were
