Once outside, they reclosed the barn-door, leaving everything exactly as they had found it. Up the road a little, the faithful Smiler was standing with the two rifles, two cartridge belts, and the two horses from Mrs. Clunie’s saddled and bridled to perfection.
“Smiler!––go home to bed,” said Jim.
Smiler nodded, grinned and ran off.
“Phil, do you know where Jack McLean, the manager of The Pioneer Traders, lives?”
“Yes!”
“Then tear up there and put him wise. Get hold of Blair, their grocery man, as well. He’s a grand scrapper. Get them to bring their rifles.
“Don’t tell a soul but these two what the game is.”
“What else?”
“I’m going to rustle up Morrison of the O.K. Supply, then down to the Town Hall for two or three who are game for a free-for-all. Make hell-bent-for-leather down to Allison’s Wharf at Okanagan Landing. We can leave our horses there, cross the lake to the other side below Redmans, and be on the main road there that leads from Vernock to Redmans a full hour ahead of them; and collar the bunch––men, wagons, feed and every damned thing, as they come sliddering along thinking they’re safe.”