He had been abroad the night before, dodging off down the draw to the west until he could circle the ridge and ride south.

He had been too shrewd to ride a fagged horse home and leave him in the corral to tell the tale of night prowling, however.
He had taken the time to catch a fresh horse from the pasture, tie his own horse in a secluded place until his return, and re-saddle it to ride back to the ranch, careful not to moisten a hair.

He felt a certain contempt for the stupidity that would leave such evidence as Jake, but for all that he was worried.

Being the scoundrel he was, he jumped to the conclusion that some one had been spying on him.

It was a mystery that bred watchfulness and much cogitation.
"What's that about some geeser riding Jake las' night ?" Bud, riding slowly until Bill overtook him, asked curiously, with the freedom of close friendship.