Childress stood hesitating, seemingly pondering over this daring proposal. "I'm not ready to pull up stakes yet," he said finally. "There's more than one skirt, as you call the ladies fair, in the Fire Weed country."
"You're still thinkin' of that there widow," said O'Hara, with an air of conviction. "Forget her. You couldn't never show a pedigree that'd pass muster."
The sergeant did not mention the possibility that he had been thinking of Flame Gallegher the last moment. Instead he suddenly demanded to know how many horses made up the "plant."
"Fifteen—first graders, every one."
Again Childress considered, and this time he seemed to reach a decision. "It's not a big enough haul. When I clean up I want to do it proper. We'll drive these long-tails back to their own range before daylight and I'll bluff it out."
"Then it's yours truly, D. O'Hara for the long scout," said the professional buster mournfully.
"Not if you really want to square our little account."
"You sure did save my worthlittle hide," admitted O'Hara. "What's the ante this time?"
"Go back to Rafter A and manage to keep me posted without letting any of them, not even the widow, know that we're acquainted. They're not going to stop with this attempt to get me. When I'm ready to strike hard and for the last time, I'll declare you in on the game and with a fair share of the pot."
O'Hara had but one objection to offer. If anything went wrong with the "plant," he had promised to return and advise Fitzrapp, who would not bring the major to search the basin that comprised the Open A. In that event Childress would lose the opportunity of appearing innocent. The buster feared, if he delayed his return until after the raid had failed, he would himself be under suspicion and his ability to aid his debtor handicapped.