"On what?"
"On how good th' raidin' is. After a fight thar's always some pickin's."
Drew was suddenly sick. What Simmy hinted at was the vulture work among the dead and the wounded too enfeebled to protect themselves from being plundered. He saw Kirby's lips set into a thin line.
"Kinda throw a wide rope, don't you, little man? How many 'boys'?"
"Maybe five ... six...."
"An' this heah cap'n?"
"He tells us wheah thar's good pickin's." For a moment the man produced a spark of spite. "He's a Reb, like you——"
"Have you used this place before?" Drew broke in. If this were either a regular or temporary rendezvous for this jackal pack, the quicker they were away, the better.
"No, the cap'n said to meet here tonight."
"I don't suppose he said when?" Kirby's question was answered by a shake of Simmy's unkempt head.