Barbee's young eyes, which he turned promptly, were still eloquent of an amorous joyousness within Barbee's young soul. He bestowed his glance only fleetingly upon Howard, said a brief 'Hello, Al,' and turned immediately to the cause of the obvious flutter in Barbee's bosom. Howard expected to see Sanchia Murray behind the counter. Instead he saw a young girl of a little less than Barbee's age, roguish-eyed, black-haired, red-mouthed, plump and saucy. Her sleeves were up; her arms were brown and round; there was flour on them.
'Where are the Longstreets, Barbee?' asked Howard.
'Gone,' announced Barbee cheerfully. And as though that closed the matter to his entire satisfaction, he demanded: 'Come on, Pet; be a good kid. Going with me, ain't you?'
Pet laughed and thereafter turned up her pretty nose with obviously mock disdain.
'Dancing old square dances and polkas, I'd bet a stack of wheats,' she scoffed. 'Why, there ain't any more real jazz in your crowd of cow-hands than there is in an old man's home. What do you take me for, anyway?'
'Aw, come on,' grinned Barbee. 'You're joshing. If it's jazz you want----'
'Look here,' said Howard impatiently. 'I'm just asking a question, and I'll get out of your way. Where did they go?'
'Who?' asked Barbee.
'The Longstreets.'
'Dunno,' Barbee shrugged. Then, as an afterthought, 'Sanchia Murray could tell you; she's been sticking tight to them. She's got a tent up yonder, back of the Courtot House on the edge of town.'
Howard hurried on. The lunch counter girl, following him with critical eyes, demanded for him or anyone else to hear: 'Who's your bean-pole friend, Kid?'
But the answer Howard did not hear. He swung out to the side to be free of the town and galloped on to Sanchia's tent, which he found readily. Sanchia herself was in front of it, just preparing to saddle her white mare.
'Hello, Al,' she greeted him carelessly, though her eyes narrowed at him speculatively.
'Where have the Longstreets gone?' he asked without preliminary.
'Back in the hills, Bear Valley way,' she replied, still scrutinizing him. She marked the look of relief in his eyes and laughed cynically and withal a trifle bitterly. 'On the Red Hill trail. Going to see them?'
'Yes.' He reined away, and then added stiffly, 'Thank you.'
'Wait a minute,' she called to him. 'I'm just going up there myself. You might saddle for me, and I'll ride with you.'
He paused and looked her sternly and steadily in the eyes. His voice was cold and his words were outspoken.