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Constance, following the direction of her gaze, asked quickly: "Who is that? What a superb seat he has!" Even as her lips opened in reply, Grace saw Mrs. Brevoort's horse give a frantic kick at something entangling his legs, then leap affrightedly from side to side, while his rider screamed in terror.
Pete knew that the Texan would not have spoken without some pertinent reason. They were drawing close to the deeper shadow of the cacti, which loomed strangely ominous in the faint light of the stars. Brevoort's horse, being the faster walker, was a little ahead and seemingly unconscious of anything unusual in the shadows, when Blue Smoke, range-bred and alert, suddenly stopped.
Pete and his companion watched them for a while. Presently Pete attracted Brevoort's attention by moving a finger. "Hear anything?" he whispered. "I hear 'em eatin'," said Brevoort. He was afraid to use the word "horses." Pete nodded. "Speakin' of eatin' you hungry, Ed?" "Plumb empty. But I didn't know it till you asked me."
Cooper, on only looking at the first word, fell into a fit of laughing that lasted half an hour." Irving is glad that he cannot find Brevoort's flute, which the latter requested should be sent to him: "I do not think it would be an innocent amusement for you, as no one has a right to entertain himself at the expense of others."
But he'd go jest as quick hisself, if he had to." "Then I guess we got no kick," said Pete. "I ain't kickin'. I'm jest puttin' you wise." "I ain't forgittin', Ed." Pete turned, following Brevoort's gaze. The man they were talking about was in sight and riding hard. Presently Brent was close enough to nod to them. Although he had ridden far and fast, he was as casual as sunshine.
"A quirt would only make him crazy," he thought; and he grinned as he saw that Brevoort's horse had let out a link or two to catch up with its mate. The low sun, touching the rim of the desert, flung long crimson shafts heavenward in hues of rose and amethyst, against the deep umber and the purple of far spaces.
"Got another hunch?" and Brevoort laughed. "Nope. I'm jest figurin' this cold. A good gambler don't drink when be's playin'. And we're sure gamblin' big." "Reckon you're right, pardner. Well, we ain't far from our blankets. Come on." The proprietor of the rooming-house was surprised to see them return so soon and so unauspiciously. He counted out Brevoort's money and gave it back to him.
"I ain't feelin' so happy myself," muttered Brevoort, turning toward the window. Pete, sitting on the edge of the bed, noticed that Brevoort's face was tense and unnatural. Presently Brevoort tossed his cigarette out of the window and turned to Pete. "I been thinkin' it out," he began slowly. "That hunch of yours kind of got me goin'. The best thing we kin do is to get out of this town quick.
And the sheriff knew something of Brevoort's record. Incidentally Sheriff Owen also looked up Pete's record. He determined to get Pete's story and compare it with what the newspapers said and see how close this combined evidence came to his own theory of the killing of Brent.
Brevoort had taken another drink after they had tacitly agreed to quit. Brevoort was the older man, and Pete had rather relied on his judgment. Now he felt that Brevoort's companionship would eventually become a menace to their safety. "Let's get back to the room, Ed," he suggested as they came out of the saloon. "Hell, we ain't seen one end of the town yet." "I'm goin' back," declared Pete.
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