"Well, you ain't got a chance of picking up the trail of two hosses out of two hundred."
In silence they received the truth of this assertion. Then Joe Stockton spoke. He was not exactly a troublemaker, but he took advantage of every disturbance that came his way and improved it to the last scruple.
"Sinclair comes from Colma, according to Bill, and Colma is north. Ride north, Kern, and the north trail will keep us tolerable close to Sinclair. We can tend to Gaspar later on—unless he's a pile more dangerous'n he looks."
"Yes, Sinclair is the main one," said the sheriff. "He's more'n a hundred Gaspars. Boys, the north trail looks good to me. We can pick up Gaspar later on, as Joe Stockton says. Straight for Colma, that's where we'll strike."
"Hold on," cut in Arizona.
Patently they regarded him with disfavor. There was something blandly superior in Arizona's demeanor. He had a way of putting forth his opinions as though it were not the slightest effort for him to penetrate truths which were securely veiled from the eyes of ordinary men.
Now he looked calmly, almost contemptuously upon the sheriff and the rest of the posse.
"Gents, has any of you ever seen this Jig you talk about ride a hoss?"
"Me, of course," said the sheriff.
"Anything about him strike you when he was in a saddle?"