He would not go to Los Muertos; he would ignore Magnus Derrick's invitation.

Possibly, though, it might be well to run over and see what was up.
"If I do," he said to himself, "I'll ride the buckskin." The buckskin was a half-broken broncho that fought like a fiend under the saddle until the quirt and spur brought her to her senses.

But Annixter remembered that the Trees' cottage, next the dairy-house, looked out upon the stables, and perhaps Hilma would see him while he was mounting the horse and be impressed with his courage.
"Huh!" grunted Annixter under his breath, "I should like to see that fool Delaney try to bust that bronch.

That's what I'D like to see." However, as Annixter stepped from the porch of the ranch house, he was surprised to notice a grey haze over all the sky; the sunlight was gone; there was a sense of coolness in the air; the weather-vane on the barn--a fine golden trotting horse with flamboyant mane and tail--was veering in a southwest wind.

Evidently the expected rain was close at hand.
Annixter crossed over to the stables reflecting that he could ride the buckskin to the Trees' cottage and tell Hilma that he would not be home to supper.