Dave scarcely heard him. He was looking across the river, a smile on his face. Before him was the Rocking Horse, and south of it, so close as to appear a part of it from that angle, lay the Hog Back. He had planned well, he told himself, when he had decided to turn infected cattle on the Double Y at that point. "Now, they ain’t goin’ fur to be found while they stops near ol’ Hog Back, Dave," One-Eye was saying. "Nobody hardly ever rides that way, an’ they ’ll drift down where th’ grass is better, soon as they finds out what they ’re up agin. Wonder if it was true about that feller ridin’ th’ Rockin’ Horse all day long?" he asked, curiously. He would have talked all day if given half a chance, but his companion, knowing One-Eye’s inability to gracefully terminate a conversation, or effect a parting, mercilessly performed the operation himself. "I ’m goin’ south, One-Eye. See you in town, some night," and Schatz’ _protégé_ cantered away, and became hidden by the brush and hills of the rough country skirting the river. One-Eye looked after him. "Black devil!" he scowled. "If anybody gets plugged for this, you can bet it won’t be little Davy. I wonder what th’ Dutch Onion knowed that Dave didn’t want told? Well, when me an’ him is together my gun hand ain’t never far from home—but I ’m surprised he did n’t pump lead into me when I laughed like I did. I plumb forgot, then. Come on, boss; home for us, an’ sudden. I ain’t hankerin’ none to be seen ’round here, _now_." CHAPTER XI THE MAN OUTSIDE Dave loped through Twin River in no amiable mood. An unreasoning irritability tormented and blinded him to everything but the trail ahead. But if Dave failed to notice his friends, one of them at least bore him no ill-feeling for the oversight; this one was so solicitous for Dave’s welfare that he followed all the way to the LaFrance cabin; when Dave went indoors he still lingered, hugging the cabin wall close to a window, while he listened with much interest to the talk that went on inside. "Where ’s Jean?" asked Dave, briefly, as he entered. Rose glanced at him. The even, metallic tones meant temper and she was painfully anxious to avoid crossing him when in this mood. Her voice was soothing as a summer breeze through tree branches when she answered. "He go to the station," she explained; "something about a harrow. He will be late." "See Peters?" "Yes." "What ’d he say about Tex Ewalt?" "He have not see him for many months. He ask me if I know him." "Well?" "You forget to tell me what to say. I forget to answer." "Hm! Beats th’ Dutch how a woman ’ll crawl out of a hole. When ’s he comin’ to see you?" "I do not know. He—he is very droll, that M’sieu Peters. Always he look at me strange like he suspect something." "He ain’t got nothin’ to suspect. Did n’t try to kiss you, did he?"