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"Oh, nothing," he smiled back at her bitterly, "except " and his jaw hardened as he snapped "except that Neal Ward is a damned informer and I've sent him about his business, and Jeanette's got to do the same." Mollie Brownwell looked at him with hard eyes for a moment, and then asked, "What did Neal do?"
Neal's all right; he's clean and he is honest I asked Bob Hendricks about him to-day, when we passed the boy chasing news for the Banner, and Bob gives him a fine name." Barclay threw himself into a chair and sighed. "I suppose it's just that I feel Jeanette's kind of leaving us out of it that is all."
Their saddles, bridles, and lassos, were put in thorough repair, and placed upon the dry rocks. Their guns were wiped out, and thoroughly cleaned lock, stock, and barrel. The horses, too, had been washed by the spring; and Jeanette's shanks had received a fresh "rub" with bear's grease, so that if ever that celebrated article brought out hair upon anything, it was likely to do so for her.
The fierce brute had left the trace of its claws upon Jeanette's back and withers; and a deep gash under her throat showed where its teeth had been buried. It was fortunate for the mule she had rushed against the tree, else the cougar would have held on until he had drunk the life-blood from her veins as this is the mode by which these animals put their prey to death.
So he jabbered to Neal Ward, his secretary, and pulled down the curtains of his car on the station side of every stop the train made in its long day's journey. It was nearly midnight when the special train pulled into Sycamore Ridge, and Neal Ward hurried home. He went to his room, and found there a letter and a package, both addressed in Jeanette's handwriting.
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