"I'm not doing this for you exactly. I'm protectin' the Bar Cross. And that's funny, too," said Johnny. "I've just barely signed up with the outfit, and right off things begin to take place in great lumps and gobs. More action in two days than I've seen before in two years. Here's how I look at it: If anyone sees fit to ride up on you and gather you on the square I've got nothing to say. But I hold no candle to treachery. You're here under trust. I owe it to the Bar Cross--and to you--that you leave here no worse off than you came. I don't know what you've done. If it's mean enough, I may owe it to Johnny Dines to go after you myself later on. But you go safe from here first. That's my job." "And I'll bet you'd sure come a-snuffin'. I judge you're a right white man, suh! But it's not so mean as all that, this time. Not even a case of 'alive or dead.' Just 'for arrest and conviction.' So I guess you'll be reasonably safe on the hillside. No money in killing you, or me, or whoever brings my hoss off of that hill. And they'll be counting on gathering you in easy--asleep here, likely." "That's the way I figured it--that last." "But how'll you square yourself with the sheriff?" "I'll contrive to make strap and buckle meet some way. Man dear, I've got to!" "Well, then--I owe you a day in harvest. Good-by, suh. Jones, he pulls his freight." * * * * * Johnny brought his new horse and saddle down from the red hill, unmolested. He cut out what horses he wanted to keep in the branding pen; turned the others loose, his new acquisition with them; and started supper. Mr. Smith joined him at dark; but the horse hunters did not get back. Supper followed, then seven-up and conversation. Johnny fretted over the non-return of Gifford. "He talked as if he knew right where to lay his hand on them horses," he complained. "Wish I had gone myself. Now in the morning I'll have to be out of here at daylight. That bunch I got in the pen, I got to take them out to grass, and wait till Bob comes--if the blame little fool sleeps out to-night." "Oh, he'll be in purty quick, likely." "I don't know," said Johnny dejectedly. "I had to-morrow all figured out like a timetable, and here it's all gummed up. Listen. What's that in the yard--crunchin'? Varmints, likely. When I was here last we used to throw out beef bones, and of nights we'd shoot through the doorway at the noise. We got eight skunks and three coyotes and a fox and a tub. Guess I'll try a shot now." He picked up his revolver and cocked it. "Hello, the house!" said a hurried voice outside. "Why, it's a man!" said Johnny. He turned his gun upon Mr. Smith. "One word and you're done," he whispered. His eye was convincing. Smith petrified. Johnny raised his voice. "Hello, outside! You come near getting shot for a skunk! If you want supper and shelter say please and walk out loud like a man. I don't like your pussy-foot ways."