Stock had been over that canyon trail within the last month or so, however; and Bud's inference that the Muleshoe must have grazing ground across the mountains was natural; the obvious explanation of its existence.
"How 'd you come to be explorin' around Gospel, anyway ?" Dirk quizzed finally.

"A person'd think, short-handed as the Muleshoe is this spring, 't you'd git all the ridin' yuh want without prognosticatin' around aimless." Now Bud was not a suspicious young man, and he had been no more than mildly inquisitive about that trail.

But neither was he a fool; he caught the emphasis which Dirk had placed on the word aimless, and his thoughts paused and took another look at Dirk's whole conversation.
There was something queer about it, something which made Bud sheer off from his usual unthinking assurance that things were just what they seemed.
Immediately, however, he laughed--at himself as well as at Dirk.
"We've been feeding on sour bread and warmed-over coffee ever since the cook disappeared and Bart put Hen in the kitchen," he said.

"If I were you, Dirk, I wouldn't blister my hands shovelling that grub into myself for a while.

You're bilious, old-timer.