“The barn wouldn't hold very many of them.”
“That's the point. It's the leaders. The family has an alibi. It goes in to the movies in the town on meeting nights. The place has been searched twice, but he says they have a system of patrols that gives them warning. The hills are heavily wooded there, and he thinks they have rigged up telephones in the trees.”
There was a short silence. Willy Cameron studied the rug.
“I had to swear to keep it to ourselves,” Pink said at last. “Cusick won't let the Federal agents in on it. They've raided him for liquor twice, and he's sick as a poisoned pup.”
“How about the county detectives?”
“You know them. They'll go in and fight like hell when the time comes, but they're likely to gum the game where there's any finesse required. We'd better find out for ourselves first.”
Willy Cameron smiled.
“What you mean is, that it's too good a thing to throw to the other fellow. Well, I'm on, if you want me. But I'm no detective.”
Pink had come armed for such surrender. He produced a road map of the county and spread it on the desk.
“Here's the main road to Friendship,” he said, “and here's the road they use. But there's another way, back of the hills. Cusick said it was a dirt lane, but dry. It's about forty miles by it to a point a mile or so behind the farm. He says he doesn't think they use that road. It's too far around.”