He nodded a casual good-by to the girl, turned his back on Lassiter and departed. As he mounted the cow trail leading out of the head of the pocket he met Bart Lassiter coming down. “I’ve just been over to your house visiting round with Miss Molly,” Carver greeted. “Noll came riding up and I someway gathered the impression that he wasn’t glad to see me.” The two lolled sidewise in their saddles. Bart looked down the bottoms toward the sod house. “I’d keep an eye peeled for Noll,” he advised. “He’s out for you if he sees the right chance. If you don’t watch sharp your horse will come dangling in some day without a rider.” “Sho!” Carver deprecated. “It’s been against the law to kill folks for a long time now.” “I know,” said Bart. “But the mere fact that we’ve got a law like that proves that maybe some one did get killed once and there’s a chance it might happen again.” “He’s been telling you things,” Carver guessed. “Likely he was just easing his mind.” “Noll didn’t tell me a word,” Bart denied. “He don’t need to. I know him. He rode hard on me with a club, up until I outgrew him, and I can read what’s going on in his mind. I put in all my early years dodging, until one day he cuffed Molly; then I forgot my timidity and pulled down his meat house. It was weeks before he was up and around. He’ll bear watching. I don’t mean to infer that Noll’s all charged with valor, which he’s not, but he’s certainly loaded to the ears with meanness and he’ll take a chance if the odds are all his way and no one looking on.” “Then I’ll take to surveying my back track,” Carver promised. “Because if we meet it will likely be from the rear.” “That’s where,” Bart agreed. “What’s to hinder my taking you on as a bodyguard, sort of?” Carver suggested. “I’m going in with the Half Diamond H wagon. Old Nate would put you on.” “The three of us are leaving for the X I L in a day or two,” said Bart. “Otherwise I’d go with you. Milt has been trail boss for the X I L for the last four summers and brought their trail herds through. Always before we’ve gone on back and wintered there, but this season we laid over to help Crowfoot.” Carver turned this arrangement over in his mind. The X I L was a Texas brand running south of the Washita country. “I’ll have a little deal on this fall after round-up,” he said. “And I’d like to have you cut in with me, provided you don’t hang out at Crowfoot’s. I’m not over-squeamish and there’s one time and another when I’ve rode for outfits whose methods was open to question. Most riders have. But folks are coming to frown on irregularities and it’s time a man reads his signs right and quits before it’s just too late.” “Oh, absolutely,” Bart agreed easily. “I can see that plain.”