“I think with Hunky Ben, of course. He knows Crux, and what is best to be done in the circumstances. The only thing that perplexes me, is what shall we do with the liquor when we’ve paid for it? A lot of it is good wine and champagne, and, although useless as a beverage, it is useful as a medicine, and might be given to hospitals.”
“Pour it out!” exclaimed Shank, almost fiercely.
“Ay, the hospitals can look out for themselves,” added Shank’s father warmly.
“Some hospitals, I’ve bin told, git on well enough without it altogether,” said Dick Darvall. “However, it’s a subject that desarves consideration.—Hallo! Buttercup, what is it that tickles your fancy an’ makes your mouth stretch out like that?”
Buttercup became preternaturally grave on the instant, but declined to tell what it was that tickled her fancy.
Shortly after the party rose and left the house, Hunky Ben remarking, with a quiet laugh, that deeds of darkness were best hatched at night.
What the conspirators hatched became pretty evident next day, for, during the breakfast hour, a band of forty horsemen rode slowly down the sloping road which led to the plains, and on the side of which Crux had built his saloon.
Crux and his men turned out in some surprise to watch the cavalcade as it passed. The band was led by Charlie Brooke, and the scout rode in advance on Black Polly as guide.
“Is it the Reds or the Buffalo you’re after to-day, Hunky, with such a big crowd?” asked Crux.
“Halt!” cried Charlie, at that moment.