“We won’t be able to ride down, and Trooper Dan Mulachy won’t be able to ride up,” said Aleck, while the men grinned at Darby. “And Trooper Dan’s on one side of that heap of stones and Steve Knight’s on the other. Do you see it, Darby?”
A slow grin spread over Darby’s face, and he smacked a huge palm on his thigh with a report like a gun. “Haw, haw, haw,” he guffawed. “’Course I see it. It’s dead simple,” and he laughed loudly again.
“Now, boys,” said Aleck, “we can just ride on slow and taking it easy. Steve will have made for the Ridge first, or I miss my guess. But we don’t want to see him there, and we’ve no idea of his being there if any inquisitive policeman come poking questions at us. Do you understand, Darby?—Steve hasn’t been to the Ridge far as we know.”
“But you just said ...” began Darby, with a puzzled frown.
“Oh, Lord,” groaned Aleck. “Here, do you understand this? If anybody—policemen or plain-clothes men—anybody walking on two legs, asks you if Steve has been to the Ridge since we all left it, you tell them you don’t know—you haven’t seen him, or heard word of him, or a guess about him, since he rode out of Connor’s Leap. See that?”
“I see that,” said Darby, slowly. “But if they ask me what I think about it myself....”
“If anybody asks you anything about Steve,” broke in Whip Thompson, “you just tell ’em to go t’ blazes.”
“That’s all right,” said Darby, brightening visibly. “I can do that o’ course—that’s simple.”
“Come on, boys,” said Aleck again, “and we’ll stop for an hour at The Trickle, and anyone that wants it can have a snooze. I guess there’s some here could do with it.”
“I could do with a drink,” said Blazes, plaintively. “I wish we’d some o’ that beer we was so everlastin’ extryavagant wi’ last night.”