It shore
is!"
"Yes; and, Dick," I went on, breathlessly, "the Greaser followed me, and if
I hadn't missed the trail, I don't know what would have happened. Anyway,
he got here first."
"The Greaser trailed you?" interrupted Dick, sharply.
When I replied he glanced keenly at me. "How do you know?"
"I suspected it when I saw him with two men in the forest. But now I know
it."
"How?"
"I beard Buell tell Stockton he had put the Greaser on my trail."
"Buell--Stockton!" exclaimed Dick. "What'd they have to do with the
Greaser?"
"I met Buell on the train. I told him I had come West to study forestry.
Buell's afraid I'll find out about this lumber steal, and he wants to shut
my mouth."
Dick looked from me to Jim, and Jim slowly straitened his tall form. For a
moment neither spoke. Dick's white face caused me to look away from him.
Jim put a hand on my arm.
"Ken, you shore was lucky; you shore was."
"I guess he doesn't know how lucky," added Dick, somewhat huskily. "Come
on, we'll look up the Mexican."
"It shore is funny how bad I want to see thet Greaser."
Dick's hard look and tone were threatening enough, yet they did not affect
me so much as the easy, gay manner of the Texan. Little cold quivers ran
over me, and my knees knocked together.
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