Pete was glad that Annersley would never know of all
this--and yet it seemed as though Annersley _could_ see these
things--and Pete, standing alone in the room, felt as though he were in
some way to blame for this disorder and squalidness. Time and
occupation had rather dulled Pete's remembrance of the actual detail of
the place, but now its original neatness and orderliness came back to
him vividly.
He was mentally rehabilitating the cabin when a boot-heel crunched on
the ground outside and Andy appeared in the doorway. "The T-Bar-T boys
are comin'. Seen 'em driftin' down the Ranger Trail."
"They was to be here this mornin'," said Pete. "Beckon they aim to
bush here all night and ride to-morrow. Hope they brought some grub
along."
"We got plenty. Come on outside. This here ole room kind o' gits on
my nerves."
Pete strode out. They stood watching the approaching riders. Suddenly
Andy White touched Pete's arm. "One of 'em is Gary!" he said, speaking
low.
Pete stopped and, picking up a clod, jerked it toward a fence-post.
The clod happened to hit the post and was flicked into dust.
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