"Help yourselves, boys," invited Winchester, waving his hand at the Scarborough horses which were tied among the willows by the creek, "and for cripes' sake, make it brief."
They mounted helter-skelter, driving the spare horses before them as they dashed across the creek and away; but when they had put a mile between themselves and the treacherous hillside Winchester held up his hand for a halt.
"No rush now, fellers," he said, "we'll jest see what happens. And by the way, what's the chances for a smoke?"
"Good!" beamed Meshackatee, "got lots of to-baccy—I knowed you boys would be short."
"Oh, you did, eh?" observed Winchester, after rolling a quick smoke, and he cocked his head at Bill.
"Yep, brought lo-ots of tobaccy," repeated Meshackatee hospitably, as he began to unlash his pack. "I'll git you them cartridges now."
"Damned good of you," murmured Winchester, "but what's the big idee? I ain't curious, I jest want to know."
"Oh, didn't I tell ye?" grinned Meshackatee, "me and Hall are deputy sheriffs!"
"The—hell!" scoffed Winchester, and Bill stopped smoking long enough to feel for his gun.