“Howdy!” returned one of the men. “Is that you, Curry?”
“Surest thing you know,” said the deputy sheriff. “Somehow I don’t seem to recall you any.”
“That’s none strange,” said the spokesman of the party. “I am Gad Hackett. No particular reason why you should know me.”
“Whatever are you doing yere?” inquired the officer suspiciously.
“Just making a short cut, leaving all trails, from Fulton to Oxboro.”
“Say you so? Seems ter me you’re hitting in the wrong direction.”
“I reckon I know my course,” returned Hackett. “I have traveled this section a-plenty. There seems to be a good bunch of you gents. Whatever are you a-doing?”
“We’re holding up for water now,” answered Curry evasively. “Mebbe you hurries right along? Mebbe you has no great time to waste?”
“We look some for water ourselves,” returned the other man.
“Well, you has to look mighty sharp yereabouts. We digs our own water hole, and unfortunately we can’t share it any. If you goes down the valley a mile or two, mebbe you finds a locality where water is easier to reach.”