“An’ the hosses?”
“We’ll keep them saddled.”
“An’ the sheriff’s fellers?”
“That I can’t say. We’re not likely to see them, anyway.”
And so the plans were arranged, simple, even hopeless in construction. Two men, for they could not depend on the half-breeds, to face possibly any odds should the raider choose this spot for attack. But however inadequate the guard, there was something morally strong in the calm, natural manner of its arranging. These two knew that in case of trouble they had only themselves to depend on. Yet neither hesitated, or balked at the undertaking. Possibilities never entered into their calculations.
The first and second night produced no alarm. Nor did they receive any news of a disturbing nature. On the third day Jacob Smith rode into their camp. He was a patrol guard, on a visiting tour of the outlying stations. His news was peaceful enough.
“I don’t care a cuss how long the old man keeps the funks,” he said, with a cheery laugh. “I give it you right here, this job’s a snap. I ride around like a gen’l spyin’ fer enemies. Guess Red Mask has his uses.”
“So’s most folk,” responded Arizona, “but ’tain’t allus easy to locate.”
“Wal, I guess I ken locate his jest about now. I’m sort o’ lyin’ fallow, which ain’t usual on Skitter Bend.”
“Guess not. He’s servin’ us diff’rent.”