But Jim had no fear. He was thinking with all the power of his brain. Time was everything. He doubted they had more than five minutes. He knew this patch of country by heart, which was one of the reasons he had taken the northern trail. Now his knowledge served him.
He answered instantly, utterly ignoring the threatening gun.
“Yes. Now get this quickly. Your only chance is to drop down into that river. It’s shallow, though swift––about two feet to possibly two and a half. Ride down stream for two miles. It winds tremendously, so the others won’t see you. You’ll come to a thick patch of woods on either bank. Take the left bank, and make through the woods, north. Then keep right on to some foot-hills about ten miles due north. Once there you can dodge ’em, sure. Anyway it’s up to you. Leave 292 ’em to me, when they come up. I’ll do my best to put ’em off.”
Jim’s voice was cold enough, but he spoke rapidly. Will, who had turned again to scan the sky-line, now looked down at him suspiciously.
“Is this bluff––or straight business?” he demanded harshly.
Jim shrugged.
“You best get on––if you’re going to clear. You said they were three miles off,” he reminded him, in the same cold manner.
Will looked back. He was still doubtful, but––he realized he must take the advice. He had delayed too long now for anything else.
“She sent you, eh?” he asked, sharply. “It’s not your own doin’?”
“I’ve no sympathy with––cattle-thieves,” Jim retorted. “Git, quick!”