"Hello," called the man. "Who is it?"
"Hello, John. It's Thornton. Howdy, Mrs. Smith." Thornton tossed his
saddle to the ground, pushed down one of the dogs that had recognized
him and was leaping up on him. "Mrs. Smith, this is Miss Waverly from
Dry Town. A friend of the Templetons. She'll be grateful if you could
take her in for the night."
Man and wife came out, shook hands with the girl, the woman led her into
the cabin, and Smith took her horse. Then the rancher saw Thornton's
saddle.
"Where's your horse?" he asked quickly.
"Back at Harte's. Lame."
In a very few words he told of a deep knife cut beneath the fetlock,
explained Miss Waverly's presence with him, and ended by demanding,
"Who do you suppose did that trick for me, John? It's got me buffaloed."
Smith shook his head thoughtfully.
"By me, Buck," he answered slowly. "Most likely some jasper you've had
trouble with an' is too yeller to get even any other way. I haven't seen
any of your friends from Hill's Corners stickin' around though. Have
you?"
"No. But Miss Waverly saw somebody on the trail the other side of
Harte's this afternoon. Mistook him for me until I told her. A big man
about my size riding a sorrel. Know who it was?"
Again Smith shook his head.
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