"Not exactly a journey," he said. Then he glanced quickly at the hay-rack standing on its side. "Say, doing anything?" he cried, and his smile was not without derision.
"Nothing particular," replied the police officer, "unless you reckon getting familiar with the geography of the valley particular."
"I'd say that's particular for--a police officer." His rich voice was at curious variance with his appearance. It was not unlike a terrier with the bay of a bloodhound.
The phenomenon was not lost upon Fyles. He was studying this meager specimen of a prairie "crook." He had never before met one quite like him. He felt that here was a case of brain rather than physical outlawry. It might be harder to deal with than the savage, illiterate toughs he was used to.
"Yes," returned Fyles, "we need to learn things."
"Guess you don't feel like giving us a hand tipping that on to the wagon? I'm going haying to-morrow."
"Sure," cried Fyles, with an easy smile, as he leaped out of the saddle. He passed into the old corral and his quick eyes took in every detail at a glance. They came to rest on the slight figure of the man and noted his costume. Charlie Bryant was clad in loose riding breeches, but was coatless. Nor did he display any firearms. "Two-man job, isn't it?" he said lightly. "And you guessed to do it--single?"
"No. I hadn't thought to get it on to-day. The Kid'll be with me to-morrow, or maybe my brother, Bill."
"Ah. Brother Bill could about eat that rack on his own," Fyles declared, as the two men set about the task.
It was a far lighter affair than it looked, and, in less than five minutes was resting perfectly balanced in its place on the wagon. Fyles looked on while Charlie went round and bolted the rack securely in its place.
"Your wagon?" the officer observed casually, while his sharp eyes took in its last details.
"Yes. Folks borrow it some. You see, I don't need it a heap, except at hay time."
"No, I don't guess you need it a heap. Say, this is a queer place tucked away up here. Old cattle station, I guess."
Fyles's remarks had no question in them. But he intended them to elicit a response. Charlie appeared to have nothing to conceal.
"Well, of a sort, I'd say," he replied. "You see, this was King Fisher's corral. There's others around the valley, though I don't know just where. King Fisher reigned nearly twenty years ago. He lived in the building the folks in Rocky Springs use as a Meeting House. He was pretty tough. One of the worst badmen ever hit this part. Had a signboard set up on the trail down from the prairie. He wrote it. 'This is King Fisher's trail, take any other old trail.' I believe most folks used to take 'any other old trail.' There was one feller didn't though. And that was the end of King Fisher's reign. These secret corrals have always been used by toughs."
