Starbuck was grinning again when he went to look out of the window. The roof of the adjoining building was only a few feet below the sill level, and there was a convenient fire-escape ladder leading to the ground.
"It's us for that road-house out on the Topaz trail before the news gets around to Stanton and Lanterby," he said definitely; and they lost no time in securing an auto for the dash.
But that, too, proved to be a fiasco. When they reached Barton's all-night place on the hill road, the bar was still open and a card game was running in an up-stairs room. Starbuck did the necessary cross-questioning of the dog-faced bartender.
"You know me, Pug, and what I can do to you if I have to. We want Hank Lanterby. Pitch out and show us where."
The barkeeper threw up one hand as if he were warding off a blow.
"You c'd have him in a holy minute, for all o' me, Billy; you sure could," he protested. "But he's gone."
"On the level?" snapped Starbuck.
"That's straight; I wouldn't lie to you, Billy. Telephone call came from town a little spell ago, and I got Hank outa bed t' answer it. He borra'd Barton's mare an' faded inside of a pair o' minutes."
"Which way?" demanded the questioner.
"T' the hills; leastways he ain't headin' f'r town when he breaks from here."