"And what are you up to with them?" asked Thorne.
"We're protecting them out of Christian charity from the dangers of the road until they reach the Promised Land."
"I see," said Thorne, reflectively. "Whereabouts lays this Promised Land?"
"About sixty mile due south."
"You sure to get them all there safe and sound—I suppose you'd be willing to guarantee that nothing's going to happen to them, Buck?"
"I give my word on that, Tom."
"All right," said Thorne, evidently relieved. He threw his leg over the horn of his saddle. "How about that little dispossession matter, deputy? You ain't reported on that."
"It's all done and finished."
"Have any trouble?"
"Nary trouble," said Señor Buck Johnson, blandly, "all went off quiet and serene."