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But the girl gave a start; her hands flew to her breast, and she stared at the man with wide-open eyes. "Frankie! What are you saying?" she exclaimed. The boy triumphantly brought his hands from behind his back. He held out a poster. "His horse has got CC2 for a brand, just like it says in this bill Ed brought from town!" he cried. "He's The Coyote, all right.
This man is tall and light in complexion, gray or blue eyes, good teeth, his horse said branded CC2, keeps himself neat, dangerous with gun, squints when mad. Bring him in and get the money. The man swore softly as he read the last sentence. "Bring him in an' get the money," he said snortingly.
But I won't tell," he added quickly, looking at Rathburn. The man avoided the girl's eyes. The boy laid the poster on the table where she could read it again, word for word. "Tall light in complexion gray or blue eyes good teeth horse branded CC2 dangerous " And this man was tall and blond, with gray eyes. Five hundred dollars reward! "I won't tell anybody you've been here," the boy continued.
"But old Brown, the judge, or the sheriff might come along an' want to know if you'd been here!" said the boy in breathless excitement. "Then tell 'em the truth," said Rathburn smilingly. "Tell 'em a man with a horse branded CC2 was here an' kidded you about your freckles, had something to eat, an' rode away. Don't lie, sonny, no matter what happens." The girl took a step toward the table.
"Remember how that printed bill read that put it in your fool head to try an' masquerade as The Coyote, an' then read the brand on that horse!" The captive rose and without a look back walked to where Rathburn's horse was cropping the grass. The left side of the animal was toward him and for a few moments he stood looking with bulging eyes at the CC2 on the shoulder. Then he turned slowly.
"You are The Coyote?" she asked in a whisper. "My name is Rathburn, miss," he replied cheerfully. "In some ways I'm a lot like the man described in that reward notice. An' I'm riding a dun-colored horse branded CC2. I don't like that monicker, Coyote, or I might 'fess up to it." "Then if you're him you're an outlaw!" she stammered. Rathburn's dreamy look shifted to the boy who was staring at him.
In a rock-walled gulch, far above the head of Sunrise Cañon, a fire was burning, its thin smoke streamer riding on a vagrant breeze. Near by lay a dun-colored horse on its side, tied fast. A man was squatting by the blaze. "I hate to have to do this, old hoss," the man crooned; "but we've got to change the pattern of that CC2 brand if we want to stick together, an' I reckon we want to stick."
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