Mile after mile the four rode in silence, Tex in the lead with Bat
Lajune close by his side. An occasional backward glance revealed the
clumsy efforts of the pilgrim to ease himself in the saddle, and the
set look of determination upon the tired face of the girl.
"Winthrup ain't wearin' well," thought the cowboy as his lips twisted
into a smile, "but what could you expect with a name like that? I'm
afraid Winthrup is goin' to wish I hadn't interfered none with his
demise, but he won't squawk, an' neither will she. There's the makin's
of a couple of good folks wasted in them two pilgrims," and he frowned
darkly at the recollection of the note of genuine relief and gladness
with which the girl had greeted Endicott; a frown that deepened at the
girl's impulsive words to himself, "I think you are just splendid.
I'll never distrust you again." "She's a fool!" he muttered under his
breath. At his side the half-breed regarded him shrewdly from under
the broad brim of his hat.
"Dat girl she dam' fine 'oman. She got, w'at you call, de nerve."
"It's a good thing it ain't daytime," growled the Texan surlily, "or
that there tongue of yourn would get sun-burnt the way you keep it
a-goin'."
Upon the crest of a high foothill that is a spur of Tiger Ridge, Tex
swerved abruptly from the trail and headed straight for the mountains
that loomed out of the darkness.
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