“As I said,” he remarked, “Benson will have to keep the Utes intoxicated in order to manipulate them. But suppose he fails to do so?”
“Then he’ll bust,” said Betts, who was busily engaged in reckoning up the value of the whisky, marking in the sand and using a sliver of rock for a pencil.
“K’rect!” commented Nomad, bending over him; but whether Nomad meant to approve the idea or agreed with the result of Bill Betts’ figures was not apparent.
“Suppose,” said the scout, “that some of the Indians should be with Benson when he comes to get the remainder of his whisky here?”
“Wow! We c’d rake ’em all in!” Nomad cried, looking up.
“But if we happened not to be right here, what would happen?”
“Why, we wouldn’t rake ’em in,” Nomad admitted.
“I see you don’t get my idea. It is just this: The Indians would be angered, perhaps would think Benson had fooled them; then things would look bad for Benson.”
“He might trail to the other cache, and show the Utes jest what had been done, and so save himself; for the Utes couldn’t blame him, when they saw how it had happened,” said Betts.