Toothpick led the way to where Squint Lane lay flat on his back beneath a tree. He was of medium height, with a big, loose mouth, a pug nose, and eyes like those of a Chinaman. He was snoring, and Jim Allen looked questioningly at Toothpick.
“We had to get him drunk afore he would come with us, so we figgered it would be best to keep him that way. He’s been ossified for five days now,” Toothpick explained joyfully.
“But he can’t tell us nothin’ now,” Bill McAllister complained.
“I can sober him pronto,” Jack Allen volunteered.
“I bet yuh could! Yuh got experience runnin’ poor drunks to the hoosegow an’ then maltreatin’ ’em. But I figgers we better try a psy-cho-log-ical experiment on him.” Allen grinned, first at his brother and then at Toothpick.
“Gents, I has erudition, so I’ll elucidate what this here psy-cho-log-ical thing is. It’s to do with the mind,” Toothpick explained, delighted at the opportunity to use a few long words which he devoutly hoped no one else understood.
“A professor gent once tol’ me that a hombre suffers a heap more from what he imagines is goin’ to happen than from what does, so we’ll try it on Squint,” Jim Allen told them.
He quickly explained what he had in mind, and then the five retreated to the fire and brewed fresh coffee. Later, he told them what he wished to learn from Squint as to the situation at the Double R Ranch. He kept most of his suspicions to himself.
“I heard tell of ’em twins—watch ’em,” Jack Allen warned.
Jim Allen hardly listened to the discussion which followed. Jack Allen occasionally volunteered a shrewd opinion; Silent emitted several grunts; but Toothpick talked continuously. That night Bill McAllister had a man who would talk and argue endlessly about Spur Treadwell’s plans. Before he and McAllister returned to the ranch, Jim gave explicit directions as to where the three would find Slivers Hart. It was arranged that Jack Allen was to go for him, as the wolf call was the signal of a friend. Besides, Jack Allen had met Slivers up in Goldville.