“Guess we made a mistake—no wolf would travel without his teeth,” Mac smiled thinly.
Sandy released him, and Allen pretended to trip and fall to the floor. The shadows were deeper there.
“Who’d yuh think he was?” a gunman asked, as the two returned to their table.
“One of them Allen twins,” Mac replied shortly.
“Ha-ha-ha!” Shortly laughed. “That’s a hell of a joke on them—they took yuh for the Killer Wolf.”
“Dang fools,” Allen grumbled, as he arose to his feet and ruefully rubbed his arms where they had been seized by Sandy’s steellike fingers.
He grinned to himself. He had carried it off and besides he had learned one important thing. Every cow-puncher in the bunk house had cowered away from the killers except Maverick Ed Stone and two punchers by the names of “Flat-foot” and “Snoots” Stevens. At least he had learned that these three had nerve and were not friends of the McGills’. He was glad of this, for he felt that before many days passed, he would have need of men with nerve to help him.
Spur Treadwell looked through the bunk-house door and said shortly: “Time for yuh boys who is ridin’ to-night to get started.”
Several riders, among whom was Shorty, arose grumblingly to their feet and, taking coats and hats from pegs, went outside. Allen drifted out after them. He saw that four of the gunmen were also assigned to night herding.
“Where yuh goin’” he asked, as he watched Shorty and three other riders as they saddled their horses.