What
his expression became then could not be said, for he buried his face in
his hands and his great body shook with a tremor. If this was not fear
it was something very like.
And very like a man in fear he stole back among the trees as cautiously
as he had made his approach. Resuming his horse he rode straight for
Logan.
"Couldn't find your young friend," he said, "along the creek."
"Why," said Logan, "I can reach him with a holler from here, I think."
"Never mind; just tell him that he's welcome to do what he pleases on
the place; and he can bunk down at the house if he wants to. I'd like to
know his name, though."
"That's easy. Anthony Bard."
"Ah," said Drew slowly, "Anthony Bard!"
"That's it," nodded Logan, and fixed a curious eye upon the big grey
rider.
As if to escape from that inquiring scrutiny, Drew wheeled his horse and
spurred at a sharp gallop up the hill, leaving Logan frowning behind.
"No stay over night," muttered the shepherd. "No fooling about that
damned old shack of a house; what's wrong with Drew?"
He answered himself, for all shepherds are forced by the bitter
loneliness of their work to talk with themselves.
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