Brenchfield’s body was hoisted and swung across Howden’s horse in front of the Chief, and the man-hunters proceeded homeward at a canter.
“How did you get over from the Landing?” asked Jim of McConnachie.
“Oh,––we got there in good time and didn’t meet a darned thing all the way. We got to Allison’s wharf. The old man’s launch was there, tied up for the night. But there was another one alongside of it. We were just comin’ back to have a look about, when him and two more came bang into us from over the hill. We jumped to our nags, and they turned and beat it back. God knows where the other two got to. They looked like breeds to me. We made after him because he had full saddlebags and looked like the head-boss man.
“But that she-devil of a horse,––it left us a mile behind. We hadn’t the ghost of an idea he was anyways near when we hit your bunch.
“But where in the name of Pete the darn-fool idiot was making for, gets my goat. Who would make for Kelowna when there’s miles of ranges to roam in?”
“Aw!––get off your foot!” exclaimed the knowing 381 Howden. “He meant to get that launch at the Landing first of all and make for his ranch at Redmans, or maybe for Penticton and down over the Line. When you guys fooled him, he came up over here, meaning to beat it back Vernock way, down Kickwillie Loop, I guess, on to the shore road at the head of the Lake and out the Coldcreek to the foot-hills, and over to the Other Side that way.
“If he had ever gotten a head start, we’d never have seen skin or hair of him.”
“But why didn’t he? Wasn’t you ginks chasin’ him to Kelowna?”
“Sure!––but weren’t we between him and the road he wanted to get onto,––simp?”
McConnachie let the sense of it sink, but it seemed to take a long time.