“That’s right, Nate,” agreed the scout; “we’ve got to make a quick move for Perry. The three of us can manage it, I reckon. It’s a fight against long odds, for Red Steve and his White Caps have several hours the start of us, but we’ll do what we can. Do you know where Crowder’s corral is?”
“Yes. The corral ain’t used now, except for an occasional round-up.”
“Well, that’s our destination. Spurs and quirts, friends!”
As they started from the room, the scout turned and looked back. Jordan was just laying a blanket over the silent form on the bed. He caught the scout’s look, and nodded.
Buffalo Bill hurried on after Dunbar and Wild Bill. In ten minutes they were slashing along the trail toward the Brazos, Dunbar laying a course that was to bring them to Crowder’s old corral by the shortest route.
“This is a bad job for Red Steve,” remarked Buffalo Bill, as they galloped along.
“It’s not the only notch Red Steve has on his guns,” said Dunbar.
“That Ace Hawkins was plumb white!” declared the Laramie man. “He did what he thought was right, and it seems hard that he’s got to pay for it like this.”
“Hawkins and the sky pilot must have been pretty good friends, Pard Hickok. If they hadn’t been, Hawkins would never have gone to the parson, as he did, and told him that trouble was hatching at the Circle-B ranch.”
“Human nature is a queer country,” mused Wild Bill. “No Apache Injun could have thought up a worse scheme than Red Steve concocted for putting Perry out of the way. Hawkins looked to be on a par with Steve, Shorty Dobbs, and the other White Caps, but, from the way he’s acted, is easy to see you can’t always judge a man by his looks. I take off my hat to Ace Hawkins! He was a whole man.”