“This is right clever of you, young man,” said Jones slowly.
“It sure is. Your saddle any good?”
“Better’n yours. Enough better to make up for the difference in hosses, unless yours is a jo-darter. My hoss is tired.”
“He’ll have all fall to rest up. We’d better trade hats, too. Somebody might be watchin’ from the hills.”
“Them fellows?” Jones motioned toward the water pen with the plate he was drying.
“Scouts, I guess. Decoy ducks. More men close, I judge. Acted like it. You ought to know.”
“It ain’t noways customary to send two men after me,” said Jones.
Johnny nodded. “You don’t know about Smithy yet. Let me wise you up.” He outlined the trustfulness of Smithy. “So he was all labeled up for an outlaw, like a sandwich man. Putting one over on Bobby—him being a boy. Bobby fell for it. And me, just a big kid myself, what show did I have with two big grown men smooth as all that? So they fooled me, too. Smithy said ‘Toad’ once—notice? Toad Hales. I’ve heard of Toad Hales. Socorro way. Big mitt man, once. Skunk—but no fighting fool. Out for the dollar.”
“He sees some several. You’re takin’ right smart of a chance, young fellow.”