CHAPTER IX.

SUSPICIONS.

A week passed and nothing more had been seen or heard of the Hains gang. The boys insisted on being a part of the day shift and from six in the morning until six at night they were out guarding the herd. It was a free open life and they enjoyed every minute of it. Young Royce improved steadily and by the end of the week was able to sit up a part of the time.

Several hours each day, while they were on duty, the boys, under the skillful tutelage of Slim and Slats, practiced throwing the lasso, a sport which they found very fascinating.

"Yer'll shore be experts if yer keep it up much longer," Slats told them after Bob had just executed a particularly difficult throw over the head of a young bull.

"When I can throw as well as you can I'll be satisfied," Bob told him.

"What, him?" Slim had come up in time to hear Bob's remark. "Shaw, he's no good."

"Who's no good?" Slats demanded very red in the face.

"You ain't, that is, not with a rope, you ain't."

"Huh, 'f I couldn't beat you two ways o' Sundays the only use I'd make of a rope'd be to hang myself." Slats retorted.

"Whar'd yer want us ter sent yer remains?" Slim asked gravely.

"Thar ain't goin' ter be any remains not till yer improve a whole lot," Slats flung at him as he turned away to attend to some duty. "Slim's all right," he continued, turning to the boys, "till he thinks somebody thinks as how he can do sumpin' better nor he can, then he jest has to naturally shoot off his mouth."

"But----"

"Course Slim's a good roper but, laws sakes wouldn't do ter let him know yer thinks so. Why only 'bout a month ago some idjut as ought ter have known better, complimented him on his throwin' an' right away he went an' bought a new hat two sizes larger nor he'd been wearin' an' his old one only six years old come next winter."

It was perhaps an hour later when Slim had a chance to tell his side.

"Yer'd think ter hear that tall shank o' bones talk that he'd invented the art o' ropin'. Why, bless yer heart, I've seen that guy miss more steers nor yer could shake a stick at/ Only time he's sure of catchin' anything's when he's right enough ter lay the loop over 'thout throwin' it 'tall."

Then, as he noticed the look of incredulity on the

"Course I'm only speakin' in comparative terms, so to speak. What I mean is that compared with some he'd measure up fairly well, mebby better nor the average. But 'twouldn't do ter let him think yer think so. He's the greatest feller yer ever saw ter get a big head, Slats is. Why, 'twont more'n a month ago that he went an' bought a new hat two sizes bigger nor the one he'd been wearing jest because some feller told him a throw he'd made was the best he'd ever seen."

"And I don't suppose his old one was more than six years old," Bob said soberly.

"'Twon't that much, he'd only had it five years come Christmas."

"Can you beat it?" Bob asked a moment later after the cowboy had left them. "And yet, I reckon it would be hard to find two better friends anywhere."

"You said it," Jack agreed. "Why only the other day Slats gave Grumpy a licking because he said that Slim was too big for his pants."

"They're a funny pair all right, but mighty good fellows when it comes right down to brass tacks. But who's that fellow?" Bob asked pointing toward a horseman who was riding toward them.

"He's not one of our boys, that's sure."

They were, at the time, on the side of the herd nearest the house, all the others being some distance away and the man was approaching from the direction of Cold Springs. As he came nearer they could see that he was middle aged, roughly, even raggedly dressed, and rode a horse which looked as disreputable as himself.

"Hello, boys," he sang out when he was within a few feet of them.

"How do you do?" Bob replied courteously.

"Only middling. What ranch is this here?"

"It's the Lazy S," Bob told him.

"Lazy S, eh. Looks like it had better be called the Busy S," he returned, glancing about. "How's chances on landing a job?"

"You'll have to see Mr. Stebbins," Bob told him.

"Whar is he?"

"He's probably at the house."

"And how far away is it?"

"About two miles," Bob told him.

"Think he wants any more help?"

"Really I couldn't say."

"I heard him say the other day that he'd like one or two more men," Jack volunteered.

"That's good news cause I sure do need one. Which way is the house?"

"That way," Bob replied pointing. "You'll see it as soon as you get over that rise."

"Then I go see him. Did you say he name is Steblits?"

"Stebbins," Jack corrected him.

"Stebbins. I'll try to remember it," the man said as he turned his horse and, with a parting wave of his hand, rode off.

"He looks as though he might have seen better days," Jack said when he was out of hearing.

"Doesn't look as though he could have seen much worse ones," Bob replied and then he remained in deep thought till Jack said:

"A penny for your thoughts."

"I was just thinking that I've seen that man before."

"You have? Where?"

"That's what I was trying to remember."

"Well, don't let me interrupt."

For several moments Bob did not speak. Something in the man's voice rather than his looks had awakened the memory of a few days past. Once again he was sitting on a log watching a group of men as they sat about a fire playing cards.

"I have it," he finally burst out. "That man belongs to Red Hains' gang."

"What?"

"You heard what I said."

"But are you sure?'

"Almost. You see, I didn't get a very good look at all of them but I remember that voice."

"But what's he doing here?"

"We could only guess at that but, taking it for granted that I'm right, what would you guess?"

"That he's a spy, of course."

"That may be. Yes, you're probably right but my guess is that he's spying after Royce."

"You mean--?"

"I mean that if he's the man I think he is, I believe Hains has sent him here to do some harm to Royce."

"What'll we do about it?"

"We ought to warn Jeb before he hires him, but I don't see how we can do it."

"Nor I. We couldn't possibly get to the house ahead of him without him seeing us."

"I have it," Bob said a moment later.

"What's your plan?"

"I'll go catch up with him and make some excuse for going to the house, and maybe I'll get a chance for a word with Jeb before he sees him. If he's all right he can't object and if he isn't we should worry."

"Good enough, but keep an eye on him. If he's what you suspect he'll be suspicious. Don't let him get the drop on you," Jack cautioned as Bob mounted his horse.

"I'll be careful," he called back.

The stranger's horse was fully as slow as his appearance indicated and it was but a few minutes when Satan drew up alongside him. The man glanced at Bob interrogatively but did not appear either displeased or surprised.

"Just thought of something I had to go to the house for," Bob told him.

"That's fine. I like company. Yer see I'm a social critter, I am."

But he did not seem inclined to talk much as they jogged along, although he answered pleasantly enough whenever Bob spoke to him. To Bob's disappointment Jeb came onto the porch as they rode through the gate. He had hoped to be able to tell him what he knew about the man before they met but now that was impossible.

"That Stebbins?" the man asked

"Yes, that's he."

Bob noticed that Jeb was looking at the stranger rather closely as he slipped from his horse and advanced to meet him.

"The boy said as how you needed another hand," he began resting one foot on the lower step.

"Well, I don't know. Guess maybe, I could use another man."

"Then I'm your best bet. I kin do most anythin' from roping ter cooking."

"What's your handle?"

"Most folks call me Los Varney."

"I thought so but wasn't quite sure," Jeb cried holding out his hand. "Don't you remember me?"

"Blast my eyes if it ain't old Jeb," the man almost shouted grasping the outstretched hand. "The boy said as how yer name was Stebbins but I didn't connect up with yer. Thought yer'd gone East and it must be all of fifteen year since we was up in the Bad Lands."

"It's nearer twenty," Jeb told him still shaking his hand.

"Mebby so, mebby so. Time sure gets away fast when yer get along in years, don't it?"

"It sure does," Jeb agreed. "But how's the world been using you?"

"Oh, 'bout good's I deserve, I reckon. Yer know I never could keep a hold on any coin an' jest now well, I sure need a job."

"Well, you've got one," Jeb assured him. "Turn your nag into the corral and then come and get a bite, that is if you're hungry."

"Ever remember seein' me when I wasn't?" the man grinned.

Bob had stood by while the two men were talking, his astonishment growing with every sentence. Was it possible that he was mistaken? It would seem so but he knew that he had an almost uncanny memory of voices and he was not at all satisfied even though Jeb had recognized in the man an old friend. Should he tell Jeb what he suspected or would it be better to wait developments? Perhaps it would be the better plan to speak to Royce first and let him have a chance to recognize the man if he had been a member of the gang. Yes, that was the best plan, he decided and, throwing the reins over Satan's head, he entered the house.

He found Royce in the big living room sitting by the window. He looked as Bob entered the room.

"Hello, Bob. In early aren't you?" he greeted him.

"A little. I want to ask you something."

"All right, shoot."

"Was there a man by the name of Los Varney in Hains' gang?"

"Los Varney? Let me see. No, I think not, leastwise I don't remember the name."

"You're sure?"

"Yep. That's not a name to forget very easily, but, of course, I suppose most of them went by assumed names and he might have been calling himself something else. But what's the idea?"

Bob told him about the man who had applied for a job and his suspicions concerning him.

"But you say Jeb knows him?" he asked as soon as he had finished.

"Yes, he knows him all right. In fact it seems that they're old friends or, at least, used to be."

"Then I guess that settles it."

"Not necessarily. You see, it's been twenty years or so since they have seen each other and I reckon a man go bad in less time than that."

"Well, that's right too," and Bob noticed that a pained look crossed the other's face.

"I didn't mean--" he began, but Royce interrupted.

"I know you didn't. What kind of a looking fellow is he?"

"About average height, around forty-five, smooth shaved, or rather he was perhaps four or five days ago. Has a rather high forehead and brown hair. That's about as well as I can describe him."

"But that description would fit half the members of the gang," Royce smiled.

"I know it but it's the best I can do. You see, he hasn't any outstanding characteristcs which make him easy to describe. I reckon we'll have to wait till you see him."

The opportunity came about a half hour later when the man came into the room with Jeb.

"You've met Bob here," Jeb said. "And this is Royce. He's got nicked a few days ago in a rumpus we had with the Hains gang."

Bob watched the man closely as he stepped forward and held out his hand to Royce.

"Glad ter meet yer, son," he said.

"Thanks. I'm glad to know any friend of Mr. Stebbins," Royce said easily.

Bob could see that he was scanning the man's face closely but, to his surprise, there was no look of recognition in his eyes. Jeb and Varney soon went out and the two were alone again.

"Well?" Bob asked.

"Nothing doing. Never saw the man before."

"You're sure?"

"Reasonably. Of course, he may have worn at beard and has shaved it off. That probably would change his looks enough so that I wouldn't recognize him. You know, I was only with them a couple of days and, of course, didn't get to know any of them very well."

"Well, if he's what I thought, he's one peach of an actor," Bob declared.

It was not until after supper was over that Bob had a chance to tell Jack what had happened. He knew by the looks on his brother's face that he was crazy to learn how the man had succeeded in getting into the good graces of Jeb.

"What's the idea?" he asked as soon as he got Bob alone out by the corral. Bob told him what had happened and he gave a low whistle.

"So you missed it that time?"

"I'm not so certain of that," Bob replied.

"But if he's a friend of Jeb."

"That's what Royce said, but, after all, that doesn't prove anything. I tell you, Jack, that man was playing cards by that fire the night they had me caught. I know it but, of course, it's another thing to prove it."

"Did you tell Jeb?"

"Not yet. Think I better?"

"Of course. What's the use in taking chances?"

"I suppose you're right, but I bet he'll laugh at the idea. Remember, all I've got to go on is his voice."

It happened that Jeb joined them at that moment and Bob told him all about it. Jeb's face was very thoughtful while he was telling the story and when he had finished, he said:

"I think you must be mistaken, Bob, but I'm glad you told me. There's no doubt that he's Los Varney all right, but it's not at all impossible that you may be right. It's a long time ago that I knew him and we were together for a year or more, but I've lost track of him since then and he may have gone wrong although, frankly, I don't think so. However we'll keep an eye open and 'forewarned is forearmed' you know."

"He didn't laugh anyhow," Jack declared as soon as they were alone again.

Three days went by. Los Varney proved that he had made no idle boast when he had said that he could do most anything. The man was a splendid rider and roper, and a good mixer with the boys who seemed to like him from the very first. Bob could not see that he displayed any more interest in Royce than was perfectly natural for one of his make up. He seemed naturally sympathetic and appeared anxious to cheer the boy up whenever occasion offered. But that was all.

But there was one member of the household who did not like Los Varney.

"He's a snake in the grass," Sue told Bob before Los had been with them a day.

"What makes you say that?" Bob asked her.

"How do I know. I just know it, that's all," she retorted.

"Intuition?"

"Maybe."

And then Bob told her what he suspected and why.

"I knew it," she declared, her eyes flashing fire, as soon as he had finished.

"Then you think I'm right?"

"Of course, you're right. Didn't I tell you he's crooked?"

"But how can I prove it?"

"You can't. That is you can't till something happens but, you take my word for it, something'll happen before many days go by. Those fellows are short on patience and don't wait long. You'll see."

It was two nights later when something happened which proved to Bob, at least, that both Sue and he were right in their judgment of Los Varney. He woke up sometime during the night and, for some reason which he could not fathom, was unable to go to sleep again. He turned first on one side and then on the other, but it was no use. He was not conscious that he had heard anything or that anything had awakened him. Finally he determined to get a drink of water and slipped quietly from the bed careful not to disturb his brother.

In the kitchen he found the pail empty and, knowing that he would probably wake the whole family if he used the pump, he determined to go out to the pump near the barn. The night was very warm and he did not fear taking cold even though he was clad only in his pajamas. He had gotten his drink and was about to start back when something down by the corral caught his eye. It was bright moonlight and he could see for a long distance.

"Wonder what that is," he thought.

Then he quickly slipped behind a tree, for he had seen that it was a man. The distance was too great for him to be able to identify him but he did note that it was a man of average height. For some moments the man stood perfectly still and, happening to raise his eyes, Bob saw far out on the prairie the flash of light. Three times it flashed and then stopped. Then he glanced toward the man by the corral and his heart gave a great bound as he saw the signal returned.

"I knew it," he thought. "But I've got to be sure that it's he."

But that was easier thought than done. There was nothing between the tree and the corral behind which he could hide and the man would not come much nearer him than he now was if he waited until he returned to the house. While he was trying to devise some plan the signal from the prairie came again and this time it flashed for a longer time before waiting for the answer. At first Bob thought they might be using the Morse code. He could read it easily but when he tried to translate the flashes into words he was unable to get a single letter and was forced to conclude that they were using an arbitrary code.

He thought of making a wide detour behind the barn and up the other side of the corral but decided that it would take so much time that the chances were that the man would be gone before he could get there. Then suddenly a plan struck him which he believed gave a fair promise of success, provided only that the man did not see him too soon.

Stretching both arms out in front he stepped boldly out from behind the tree and started to walk directly toward the man who was still flashing his light. If only he would keep it up until he got near enough to see him plainly, he thought, and walked as rapidly as he dared. Closer and closer he came and still the man did not once turn around. Not until he was within twenty feet of him did he become aware of his presence, then he turned and saw him.

"What are you--" the man began and then stopped for Bob was walking straight past seemingly not paying him the slightest attention. "He's sleep walkin'," he heard him mutter as he passed within three feet of him.

It was Los Varney, Bob got a good look at his face just as he turned and he also had no trouble in recognizing his voice. He walked straight past him and did not change his course until he was all of a hundred yards away. Then he turned in such a way as to bring him back in a wide circle to the front of the house. What Los was doing he did not know as he did not dare to turn his head in the slightest degree. The man might be following him and he feared that the least false move would give him away. So he reached the house and got to his room without another sight of the man.

"Whew, but I believe it worked," he thought as he crept into bed.

That Los Varney was the man he thought had been proven to his own satisfaction but just what his object was was still an open question. Was it to wreak vengeance on Royce for deserting the gang or was it to gain some information which would enable Hains to run off more cattle? Ought he to go to Jeb at once and tell him what he had seen or would it be better to wait until morning. On the one hand there was the possibility that they were going to make another raid that very night but, on the other, should he try and inform the foreman right away, the chances were more than even that Los would be aware of it. On the whole he decided that the better plan was to wait until morning and take a chance that whatever the signals meant it was not scheduled for that night.

"I might spill all the beans," he thought, "if I do anything more tonight."

It was a long time before sleep came to him but finally he dropped off and the sun was shining in at the window when he awoke. He lost no time in hunting up Jeb and telling him what he had seen in the night.

"Well, well, is it possible that old Los has gone wrong? It looks like it for a fact. But you certainly did pull off a slick stunt and I'll bet he's guessing now what it was all about."

"But don't you think it's serious?" Bob asked anxiously.

"Serious! You bet your life it's serious. If Los Varney belongs to that gang, and I reckon I've got to own up that the chances are that he does, after what you saw last night, there's no telling what may happen."

"What are you going to do about it?"

Jeb scratched his head. "What would you do?" he asked.

"I'd have him arrested."

"That might be a good plan but I was thinking that perhaps it would be better to give him a little more rope and see if he won't hang himself. If he ain't suspicious any now he'll go right ahead and, now that we know that he's up to something, maybe we can catch him at it or find out what his gang's planning to do."

"I guess that would be better," Bob agreed thoughtfully.

"Then suppose you and Jack turn detective and keep an eye on him. But you'll have to be mighty careful and not give yourselves away. There's one thing in your favor," he added after a moment's pause. "Los isn't what you'd call quick witted, that is, he didn't used to be, and I kind of wonder that Hains would pick him for a job of this kind."

"Perhaps he thought you wouldn't suspect him because you used to know him," Bob suggested.

"I reckon that's it and, frankly, I didn't, not till you told me what you saw last night."

Just then Charlie rang the bell for breakfast and, with a parting word to be careful, Jeb led the way into the house.