Endicott nodded: "I'll remember," he said, "and when we return, you have the papers ready, and we'll close the deal."
While the barn dogs saddled Endicott's horse, Old Bat led the way to the alley between the livery barn and the saloon, and throwing himself upon his belly, lighted matches and studied certain marks on the ground. Satisfied at length he regained his feet.
"What are you hunting for?" Endicott asked.
"Hoss tracks. Tex, she ain' got hee's own hoss. Me, A'm wan' know w'at kin' track A'm foller w'en we git 'cross de riv'."
"How are we going to cross?" asked Endicott as they swung along the trail at a brisk trot.
"We ain' 'cross yet. Firs', we swing down de riv'. We comin' to de ranch. Plent' ranch on dis side along de riv'. We git de boat."
"But, the horses? We can't take the horses in the boat."
"We com' w'ere we need de hoss we hont de ranch an' git mor' hoss."
At the river they halted for a few moments before heading down stream, and Endicott shuddered as he gazed out over the drift-choked surface of the flood. Old Bat devined what was passing in his mind.
"De riv', she look lak hell w'en you stan' an' see her go pas'. But she ain' so bad she look. W'en de boat git een de wattaire she ron so fas' lak de res', an' she 'bout de sam' lak she stan' still."