'Who?' asked Barbee.
'The Longstreets.'
'Dunno,' Barbee shrugged. Then, as an afterthought, 'Sanchia Murray could tell you; she's been sticking tight to them. She's got a tent up yonder, back of the Courtot House on the edge of town.'
Howard hurried on. The lunch counter girl, following him with critical eyes, demanded for him or anyone else to hear:
'Who's your bean-pole friend, Kid?'
But the answer Howard did not hear. He swung out to the side to be free of the town and galloped on to Sanchia's tent, which he found readily. Sanchia herself was in front of it, just preparing to saddle her white mare.
'Hello, Al,' she greeted him carelessly, though her eyes narrowed at him speculatively.
'Where have the Longstreets gone?' he asked without preliminary.
'Back in the hills, Bear Valley way,' she replied, still scrutinizing him. She marked the look of relief in his eyes and laughed cynically and withal a trifle bitterly. 'On the Red Hill trail. Going to see them?'
'Yes.' He reined away, and then added stiffly, 'Thank you.'