"An' forty pounds o' jerked meat a man," added Hank. "We might have ter go clean up ter th' South Park afore we dast turn fer Bent's. Hang it on that thar dead ash we used afore, or clost by if th' tree's down. We better leave ye some more bullets as will fit our own weapons without no doubt. We kin run more in th' warehouse in Santer Fe if we need 'em. Keep yer Galena, Turley, an' leave some patches, instid, along with our bullets."
"But we'll still be four arter we leave hyar," objected Jim.
"No, ye won't," replied Turley. "Ye'll show up in pairs, ye'll jine in pairs, ye'll ride an' 'sociate in pairs, an' thar'll be a dozen more mixin' up with ye. Wall, talk it over among ye while I gits busy afore it's light," and the friendly rancher was swallowed up in the night.
A few minutes later Jacques, sleepy and grumbling, loomed up out of the darkness, collected the six horses and departed up the slope. Shortly after him came Turley with a miscellaneous collection of odds and ends of worn-out clothing and soon his friends had exchanged a garment or two with him. Tom and Hank parted with their buckskin shirts and now wore coarse garments of Pueblo make; Zeb had a Comanche leather jerkin and Jim wore a blue cotton shirt patched with threadbare red flannel. They bound bands of beadwork or soft tanned skin around their foreheads, and Hank's hair proudly displayed two iridescent bronze feathers from the tail of a rooster. If Joe Cooper, himself, had come face to face with them he would have passed by without a second glance.
Silently Zeb and Jim melted into the night, while Tom and Hank arose and went around to the wall of the still house, rolled up in their newly-acquired blankets against the base of the adobe wall and slept until discovered and awakened after dawn by one of Turley's mill hands, who paid them a timid and genuine respect.
They loafed around all day, watching the still house with eager eyes. Their wordless pleading was in vain, however, for Turley, frankly scowling at their first appearance, totally ignored them thereafter. Just before dusk two half-civilized Arapahoes from St. Vrain's South Platte trading post swung down the mountain side, cast avaricious eyes on some horses in the pasture, sniffed deeply at the still house, and asked for whiskey.
"I'll give ye whiskey," said Turley after a moment's thought, a grin spreading over his face, "but I won't give it ter ye hyar. If ye want likker I'll give ye a writin' ter my agent in Santer Fe, an' he'll give ye all yer porous skins kin hold, an' a jug ter take away with ye."
"Si, señor! Si, señor! Muchos gracias!"
"Hold on thar! Hold yer hosses!" growled Turley. "Ye don't reckon I'm makin' ye no present, do ye? Ye got ter earn that likker. If ye want it bad enough ter escort my atejo ter th' city, it's yourn. I'm combin' my hosses outer th' brush, an' I'm short-handed. By gosh!" he chuckled, smiling broadly.
"Thar's a couple more thirsty Injuns 'round hyar, some'rs; hey, Jacques! Go find them watch dogs o' th' still house. They won't be fur away, you kin bet. These two an' them shore will scare th' thieves plumb ter death all th' way ter town. I kin feel my ha'r move!"