“So far as that goes, we’re not sure of much of anything in this world but death and taxes. Anyhow, Pard Cody, about two minutes ago you rose to remark that Jordan wasn’t a man to send a messenger with a warning unless there was really something on the carpet.” “Nor do I think he is,” answered the scout. “Jordan, for a sky pilot, is about as clear-headed, practical a man as I ever met. But suppose it was part of Benner’s game to steer this man of his against the sky pilot with a fake report of trouble brewing? What if that’s a part of Benner’s plan?” “How would Benner gain anything by that?” asked Wild Bill, wrinkling his brows over this new phase of the matter. “He might gain just the point you’re suggesting--that one of us ride to his ranch for investigation. Perhaps that’s what he’s working for.” “So he can get hold of one of us?” “Possibly.” “Well, Benner’s long-headed, Pard Cody, but he’s not so long-headed as all that comes to. I’ll gamble that Benner’s man who tipped off the sky pilot was acting in good faith. We know Jordan has friends at Benner’s; and maybe Perry has a few there, too, and that they’re trying to show friendship in the only way they dare, and hold their jobs. Which is it, yes or no?” “Go ahead,” said the scout; “but, if you’re not back by some time to-night, you’ll know I’m hitting the trail on the hunt for you.” “I’ll get back, and don’t you forget that. Stay right here for half an hour and I’ll show you something.” Wild Bill, as he spoke, got up from the bench. A moment later he had disappeared in the bunk house behind the ranch headquarters. The scout, filling and lighting his pipe, leaned back on the bench and gave way to reflections that were not wholly agreeable. Here, where he and his friends had wrought peace and happiness on the Star-A section of the Brazos, had suddenly appeared the ugly, serpent-like head of under-handed war. Perry, just when he was securing the respect and confidence of the cattlemen up and down the river--excepting Benner, of course--might be called on to face more troubles. And of these he had had enough, and more than enough. Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar, too, might be rudely disturbed in their new-found dream of happiness. This possibility the scout regretted deeply, for he had taking a great liking to Dunbar and his wife, and would have gone far to insure their tranquil future. The scout wished that he had not allowed the baron, the trapper and the little Piute to leave Perry’s for the Dinkelmann ranch. If clouds were really beginning to show in the peaceful skies, all the pards should be corraled in one place, ready to hurl their united strength against any quarter of the compass from which a sudden call might come. “Podner, who lives hyer?” The raucous voice broke in suddenly on the scout’s reflections. Lifting his eyes he stared at about as ornery a specimen of the genus hobo as he had ever set eyes on.