"
CHAPTER X
When morning came, Conniston was the last man to crawl out of his
bunk. At breakfast he was the last man to finish. He dawdled over his
coffee until the cook stared curiously at him, he used up a great deal
of time buttering his hot cakes, he ate very slowly. Only after every
other man had left the table did he push his plate aside and go out
into the yard. His manner was unusually quiet this morning, his jaw
unusually firm, his eye unusually determined. He saw with deep
satisfaction that all of the Half Moon men except Lonesome Pete and
Brayley had ridden away upon their day's work. The red-headed cowboy
was even now going down to the corrals, a vacant look in his blue
eyes, the corners of a little volume sticking out of his hip-pocket,
his lips moving to unspoken words. Brayley was going through the
fringe of trees toward the house, evidently to speak with Mr. Crawford
upon some range business. Conniston strolled slowly down toward the
corrals, stopping and loitering when he had got there.
Now and then he caught a glimpse of Lonesome Pete mending his saddle
just within the half-open stable door, but for the most part his eyes
rested steadily upon the little path which wriggled through the grove
and toward the house. He made and smoked a cigarette, tossing away the
burned stub. He glanced at his watch, noticed that he was already
half an hour late in going to work, and turned back toward the house,
his expression the set, even, placid expression of a man who waits,
and waits patiently.
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