"Someone's in Drowned Valley," repeated Byron. "Them minks slid off'n
Star in a hurry, I reckon, judgin' how they left their shanty. Phew!
It stunk! They had French hootch, too."
"Mebby Leverett and Kloon told 'em we was fixin' to visit them," suggested Blommers.
"They didn't know," said Clinch.
"Where's Hal Smith?" inquired Hone.
Clinch made no reply. Blommers silently gnawed a new quid from the remains of a sticky plug.
"Well," inquired Jim Hastings finally, "do we quit, Mike, or do we still-hunt in Drowned Valley?"
"Not me, at night," remarked Blommers drily.
"Not amongst them sink-holes," added Hone.
Suddenly Clinch turned and stared at him. Then the deadly light from his little eyes shone on the others one by one.
"Boys," he said, "I gotta get Quintana. I can't never sleep another wink till I get that man. Come on. Act up like gents all. Let's go."