As they
swept out of sight behind a grove Red turned in his saddle and waved
his hat. Buck discussed with assiduity the prospects of a rainfall and
was very cheerful about the recovery of the stolen cattle. Red could
see a tall, broad-shouldered man standing with his feet spread far
apart, swinging a Colt's .45, and Hopalong swore at everything under
the sun. Dust arose in streaming clouds far to the south and they
spurred forward to overtake the outfits.
Buck Peters, riding over the starlit plain, in his desire to reach
the first herd, which slept somewhere to the west of him under the
care of Waffles, thought of the events of the past few weeks and
gradually became lost in the memories of twenty years before, which
crowded up before his mind like the notes of a half-forgotten song.
His nature, tempered by two decades of a harsh existence, softened as
he lived again the years that had passed and as he thought of the
things which had been. He was so completely lost in his reverie that
he failed to hear the muffled hoofbeats of a horse that steadily
gained upon him, and when Frenchy McAllister placed a friendly hand on
his shoulder he started as if from a deep sleep.
The two looked at each other and their hands met. The question which
sprang into Buck's eyes found a silent answer in those of his friend.
They rode on side by side through the clear night and together drifted
back to the days of the Double Y.
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