What did strike
him as peculiar was that so much of the Rangers' movements should be
unknown to their commanding officer. McKay had ever since coming into
their camp been seeking information. Still, as he had said, he had
been away. Tad knew that the Rangers took long rides, sometimes
hundreds of miles, using relays of horses and making almost as good
time as they could have done going by trains.
The lad decided that he was unduly suspicious. Suddenly, as McKay
was talking, a shot sounded somewhere off on the plains. The Ranger
sprang to his feet, his eyes darkened.
"Is---is something wrong?" stammered the professor.
"There may be. I must investigate. You will say nothing about having
met me," commanded the stranger sternly.
"Certainly not, certainly not."
"I will bid you good day. I'll see you again when I may have something
more to say."
With that McKay ran to his pony, and leaping into the saddle tore
through the brush at a perilous pace. Tad observed what the others
failed to see. He noted that the Ranger had returned in the direction
from which he had come, rather than riding off toward the direction
from which the shot had sounded. This struck Tad as a peculiar thing
for a Texas Ranger to do.
"That's queer," muttered Butler.
"What is queer, Tad?" questioned the professor.
"The way he went."
"His leave taking was rather abrupt.
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