“Follow my trail long enough and you'll find out--maybe,” Kent snapped in reply. He felt that the whole group was watching hum, and he knew that if he looked back and caught another glimpse of Fred De Garmo's sneering face he would feel compelled to strike it a blow. There would be no plausible explanation, of course, and Kent was not by nature a trouble hunter; and so he chose to ride away without his dinner. While Polycarp was still wondering audibly what was the matter, Kent passed the house on his gray, called “So-long, Man,” with scarcely a glance at his host, and speedily became a dim figure in the smoke haze. “He must be runnin' away from you, Fred,” Polycarp hinted, grinning cunningly. “What you done to him--hey?” Fred answered him with an unsatisfactory scowl. “You sure would be wise, if you found out everything you wanted to know,” he said contemptuously, after an appreciable Wait. “I guess we better be moving along, Bill.” He rose, brushed off his trousers with a downward sweep of his hands, and strolled toward the corrals, followed languidly by Bill Madison. As if they had been waiting for a leader, the others rose also and prepared to depart. Polycarp proceeded, in his usual laborious manner, to draw his tobacco from his pocket, and pry off a corner. “Why don't you burn them guards now, Manley, while you got plenty of help?” he suggested, turning his slit-lidded eyes toward the kitchen door, where Val appeared for an instant to reach the broom which stood outside. “Because I don't want to,” snapped Manley: “I've got plenty to do without that.” “Well, they ain't wide enough, nor long enough, and they don't run in the right direction--if you ask me.” Polycarp spat solemnly off to the right. “I don't ask you, as it happens.” Manley turned and went into the home. Polycarp looked quizzically at the closed door. “He's mighty touchy about them guards, for a feller that thinks they're all right--_he-he!_” he remarked, to no one in particular. “Some of these days, by granny, he'll wisht he'd took my advice!” Since no one gave him the slightest attention, Polycarp did not pursue the subject further. Instead, with both ears open to catch all that was said, he trailed after the others to the corral. It was a matter of instinct, as well as principle, with Polycarp Jenks, to let no sentence, however trivial, slip past his hearing and his memory. CHAPTER VIII. THE PRAIRIE FIRE