“Bob Long was headin’ that posse,” said Rathburn thoughtfully.
“An’ Bob Long’s a sticker when he hits out on a man’s trail,” said Price. “Still, I guess you’d be 191 safe in here for a while. There ain’t many knows this place.”
“I don’t figure on stayin’ here long, Joe,” said Rathburn.
“I didn’t think you did,” said Price.
“I’ll have to get goin’––hit for new country an’ never know when I may run up against the law in a quarter where I ain’t expecting it; always sneaking along––like the coyote. It was Mike Eagen who gave me that name, Joe.”
Rathburn’s voice was low and vibrant, and the old man felt the menacing quality in it.
“What’s more,” Rathburn went on, “I’m always remembering that he’s back here, getting away with his dirty tricks, shoving the blame off on me, some way or other, when the chase gets too hot.”
For some time the old man was silent. When he spoke he put an arm about Rathburn’s shoulder.
“Boy, before you get worse mixed up than you are, there’s a place you ought to visit aroun’ here,” he said in a fatherly tone.
Rathburn shrugged and stared up at the night sky which was blossoming with stars.