They promised to be careful and set out gaily, provided with an abundant lunch that Mrs. Claxton had had Tom Lee put up for them.
"I don't feel sure yet that Tom isn't a highbinder or something bad," remarked Sammy. "Last night I saw him slide out toward the hen-house as though he didn't want any one to see him. Maybe he had an appointment to meet some other Chinaman there for all we know."
"More likely he went out to get some chickens so that you could have fried chicken legs for lunch," replied Frank.
"But why should he go out at night for that?" persisted Sammy.
"Because it's easier to pull chickens off their perch than it is to chase them round the yard in the morning," gibed Bob. "You can't make any mystery out of that, Sammy."
The laugh that followed silenced Sammy.
Their route on this morning led them over the little river that had been the scene of their stirring adventure. They splashed through it and over the ridge where they had almost been witnesses of the lynching.
Beneath the cottonwood tree they halted their horses and looked around them with a feeling of awe.
"Here's just where the poor fellow stood with the rope around his neck," observed George.
"And there's the bough that the rope went over," remarked Sammy, pointing upward.