McCartney stood alone in the darkness by the river and waited for Rickard, whose form was faintly visible a few yards up the river. When Rickard had joined him, McCartney caught him by the arm.
"Well?" he asked.
"All smooth," Rickard replied.
"Nothin' rough?" McCartney prompted.
"I said—all smooth," Rickard returned, a little impatiently.
They walked together to within a few yards of the men and stood looking at them. McCartney's group were in the majority, and stood near the corral. Some distance back the others stood about in small groups, talking angrily among themselves.
A bit of the bank dropped away and fell with a dull splash into the water.
McCartney put a cigarette into his mouth and applied a match leisurely.
"I ain't much on religion, Rick," he said, jocularly, "but the Almighty sure looks friendly to-night."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN