Jimmy Devlin disliked walking and refused to take it in large doses. In
fact, he did not have a definite destination in view. He wanted to get a
job on a cattle-ranch. He had been unable to prove his innocence at the
time of his trial, but the brand of train-robber sat lightly on his
shoulders. He whistled softly to himself and kept to the low ground,
taking no chances of being seen and picked up as a suspect.
He had felt sure that he would find a ranch, where he could get a meal;
but no ranch could he find, and hunger grew great within him. A
well-directed stone secured a small brush-rabbit, which he dressed at a
small creek and prepared for broiling.
He was about to light a fire, when he saw a rider cutting along the
sky-line, traveling north. It was Bud Deal, heading for the Box M, but
Jimmy did not know him.
“Ah-ha!” grunted Jimmy aloud. “That’s either an officer of the law or an
innocent man; otherwise he wouldn’t be skylarkin’ along on the top of
the hills. I should be wise and crafty, so I should; but eat I must,
even if I’m spotted by me firelight and hung at daylight.”
Even a fat, young brush-rabbit is not exactly food for the gods, when
salt is conspicuous by its absence; but Jimmy ate it all, loosened his
belt and curled up on the ground.
The heat of the day gave way to the chill of night, and Jimmy grew
uncomfortable. Finally he got to his feet and gazed off across the
hills. A moon was coming up behind the Thunder Range. Far away came the
mournful yelp of a coyote.
“Ye have nothin’ to yowl about,” commented Jimmy aloud. “From what I can
see, ye have plenty to eat. Old Man Winter sure stocked up your
grub-box, ye loafer. I am no —— owl, but I’d rather walk than freeze,
and I’ve a hunch I’m goin’ to find a ranch pretty soon.”
He stamped out the remains of his little fire and started climbing the
hill. He stopped at the top and scanned the country. A mile away
glimmered a tiny light in a window at the Box M.
“There it is,” whispered Jimmy. “Me guidin’ star.”