Stratton and Jessup discussed the incident while making brief preparation for bed. So far as Bud knew there had been no stranger on the Shoe-Bar at that time; but it seemed certain that the fellow must have been sent by Lynch to spy around and find out where Buck was. "I s'pose he went to the ranch-house first and Tenny sent him down here, knowing he wouldn't get much out of Gabby," remarked Stratton. "Well, as far as I can see he had his trouble for his pains. Unless he hung around for two or three days he couldn't very well be certain I wasn't somewhere on the ranch." Save as a matter of curiosity, however, the whole affair lay too far in the past to be of the least importance now, and it was soon dismissed. Having removed boots and outer clothing, and spread their blankets in one of the pair of double-decked bunks, the two men lost no time crawling between them, and fell almost instantly asleep. CHAPTER XXV THE TRAP "Yuh out last night?" brusquely inquired Gabby, as they were dressing next morning. A direct question from the eccentric individual was so novel that Buck paused in buckling on his cartridge-belt, and stared at him in frank surprise. "Why, no," he returned promptly. "Were you, Bud?" "I sure wasn't. I didn't budge after my head hit the mattress. What gave yuh the notion, old-timer?" "Door unlatched," growled Gabby, continuing his preparations for breakfast. "Is that all?" shrugged Bud. "Likely nobody thought to close it tight." Gabby made no answer, but his expression, as he went silently about his work, failed to show conviction. "Ain't he a scream?" inquired Bud an hour later, when they had saddled up and were on their way. "I don't wonder Tenny can't get nobody to stay in camp with him. It would be about as cheerful as a morgue." "Must have got soured in his youth," remarked Stratton. "I had to put up a regular fight to get him to look after the pack-horse till somebody can take it back to the ranch-house. Where do we hit this trail you were telling me about?" "About a mile and a half further on. It ain't much to boast of, but chances are we won't meet up with a soul till we run into the main road a mile or so this side of Perilla." Bud's prediction proved accurate. They encountered no one throughout the entire length of the twisting, narrow, little-used trail, and even when they reached the main road early in the afternoon there was very little passing. "Reckon they're all taking their siesta," commented. Bud. "Perilla's a great place for greasers, yuh know, bein' so near the border. There's a heap sight more of 'em than whites." Presently they began to pass small, detached adobe huts, some of them the merest hovels. A few dark-faced children were in sight here and there, but the older persons were all evidently comfortably indoors, slumbering through the noonday heat.