“No,” answered Brent, “I don’t think they’d care about it anyhow. Rivers is the only gunman we have.”
“A pretty quiet sort of gunman, though,” I mentioned.
“When do we go?” Tom asked. “I’ve got to go to Harkness and then up the line to-morrow morning. Heinie told me of a good repair man that keeps a garage up that way. His place is about fifteen miles up the state road.”
“Lizzie troubled with her appendix again?” Brent asked.
“No,” said Tom, refusing to let Brent ruffle him. “It’s the engine. Knocks.”
“As usual?” Brent queried.
“As usual,” Tom answered.
“Well then, we better set it for day after to-morrow. Start out around five or so, huh? We can’t hunt that lynx in the daylight you know. He’s trained too well.”
“I know. Six o’clock’s time enough, Brent.”
“Perhaps. Still, I’d like to see the sunset in the mountains and if I remember rightly, I think I’ve picked a beautiful spring moonlight night for our adventure.”