But his whimsical moment was quickly gone. The tragedy of his position was all too harsh for such levity, and he frowned down at the cold iron of Peter's stove. What must he do? He could see no way out. For perhaps the hundredth time that day his question remained unanswered. One thing he had made up his mind to, although he could not see how it was to help him in his dilemma. He must find Will Henderson.
He rose from his seat, stretched his aching limbs, and turned to his blankets.
But he did not unroll them. The heavy step of some one approaching startled him. Who could it be? Peter was away--and yet--and yet---- He listened intently, and suddenly his eyes lit. It was like Peter's step. He went to the door and threw it open, and in a moment was greeting the one man whose coming at such a moment could have made him feel glad.
"Say, Peter, this is bully," he cried, shaking the big man's hand. "I didn't guess you'd be coming along in. Who's that with you? Eh? Oh, Elia."
Peter nodded. But his usual smile was lacking.
"Yes. Eve's just coming along. Ah, here she is," he added, as the girl suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Come in, my dear," he went on kindly. "Guess we caught Jim before he got down for the night."
Jim offered the girl no greeting. All thought of formalities was driven from his mind at the sight of her expression. The hunted look in her eyes was even greater than it had been two days ago, and he wondered what fresh development had brought it about. He was not long left in doubt. Peter eyed him ruefully, and then glanced at the door which was still open.
"It's trouble, Jim, fresh trouble, so--I guess I'll shut this door tight."
While he was doing so, Jim pushed the chair toward Eve, into which she almost fell. Then he glanced at Elia, speculating. As Peter returned to the group he dropped back and seated himself on the rough bed, waiting for enlightenment. Peter leaned himself against the table, his grizzled face frowning thoughtfully.
"I'm needing a horse to-night--now," he said. "An' he's got to do sixty miles between this and sundown to-morrow. I want yours. Can I have it?"
The man's shrewd blue eyes were steadily fixed on Jim's face. He was putting all his knowledge of the ranchman to the test in his own subtle way. He was asking this man to help him against himself. He was asking this man to help him prevent his removing the unmerited suspicion with which he was branded. But he intended to do it openly, frankly. And his reason was because he understood a good deal of human nature, and of Jim Thorpe particularly.