“Maybe. Missed my beauty sleep already.” His voice was dryly sarcastic. “It’s too bad you rode this far for nothing; can’t even get a look at me. But it’s no time to visit a man, anyway. You and your boys flop outside. We’ll swap palaver in the morning. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Allen returned to the edge of the clearing, where he communicated to his men the result of the conference.
“He ain’t allowing that he wants to be disturbed just now,” he told them. “And he’s too damned polite to monkey with. We’ll wait. Likely he’ll change his mind over-night.”
“Wait nothing,” growled Duncan. “Bust the door in!”
Allen grinned mildly. “Good advice,” he said quietly. “Me and my men will set here while you do the busting. Don’t imagine that we’ll be sore because you take the lead in such a little matter as that.”
“If I was the sheriff——” began Duncan.
“Sure,” interrupted Allen with a dry laugh; “if you was the sheriff. There’s a lot of things we’d do if we was somebody else. Maybe breaking down Dakota’s door is one of them. But we don’t want anyone killed if we can help it, and it’s a dead sure thing that some one would cash in if we tried any monkey business with that door. If you’re wanting to do something that amounts to something to help this game along, swap your cayuse for one of Dakota’s and hit the breeze to the Double R for grub. We’ll be needing it by the time you get back.”
Duncan had already ridden over sixty miles within the past twenty-four hours, and he made a grumbling rejoinder. But in the end he roped one of Dakota’s horses, saddled it, and presently vanished in the darkness. Allen and his men built a fire near the edge of the clearing and rolled into their blankets.
At eight o’clock the following morning, Langford appeared on the river trail, leading a pack horse loaded with provisions and cooking utensils for the sheriff and his men. Duncan, Langford told Allen while they breakfasted, had sought his bunk, being tired from the day’s activities.