Good Indian led the way through the corral, into the little pasture, and across that to where the long wall of giant poplars shut off the view.
"I admire courage," he grinned, "but I sure do hate a fool." Which was all the explanation he made for the detour that hid them from sight of anyone stationed upon the bluff, except while they were passing from the stable-door to the corral; and that, Jack said afterward, didn't take all day.
Coming up from the rear, they surprised Stanley and one other peacefully boiling coffee in a lard pail which they must have stolen in the night from the ranch junk heap behind the blacksmith shop.

The three peered out at them from a distant ambush, made sure that there were only two men there, and went on to the disputed part of the meadows.

There the four were pottering about, craning necks now and then toward the ranch buildings as if they half feared an assault of some kind.

Good Indian led the way back to the stable.
"If there was any way of getting around up there without being seen," he began thoughtfully, "but there isn't.

And while I think of it," he added, "we don't want to let the women know about this." "They're liable to suspect something," Wally reminded dryly, "if one of us gets laid out cold." Good Indian laughed.