It was not until they had passed the park that the others overtook Hales.
“Here, you, Hales—don’t kill your horse!” said Jody Weir. “If he beats us to the pass we’re not done yet. He’ll come back to-night. He said so.”
“You cussed fool! If he once gets those location notices in the mail we might as well let him go. We couldn’t take the chances and get by with it.”
“That’s just it,” said Jody. “Hi! Caney! Ride up alongside. Slow up, Hales! Listen, both of you. Even if he gets those papers in the mail, the recorder need never see them. All I have to do is to say the word. I’m on the inside—sure and safe.”
“Sure?”
“Sure and safe. If he beats us to the gap and comes back—well, you stop Adam’s mouth and I’ll be responsible for the papers. They’ll never be recorded in this world!”
“Where’s your stand-in? At Garfield?”
“Never you mind my stand-in. That’s my lookout. A letter posted at Garfield to-night goes to Rincon by buckboard to-morrow; it lays over in Rincon to-morrow night, goes out on the High Line to Nutt on the nine-fifteen day after to-morrow, takes the branch line to Lake Valley, and goes from Lake to Hillsboro by stage. It don’t get to Hillsboro till two in the afternoon, day after to-morrow. It takes as long from Garfield to Hillsboro as from Chicago. After—after—if we turn the trick—we can come back and post location notices for ourselves. Then we can beat it on a bee line for Hillsboro and record ’em.”
“Aha! So it’s at Hillsboro post office you’re the solid Muldoon, is it?”
Weir’s gun flashed to a level with Caney’s breast. “That will be all from you, Caney! Your next supposing along those lines will be your last. Get me? Now or ever! Keep your mouth closed, and Adam Forbes’ mouth. That’s your job.”