Hashknife and Len exchanged glances of complete understanding. The smoke wasn’t at all distressing.
They loafed around the ranch all day. Len gave Hashknife all the information regarding the details of the ranch. Whispering cooked an early supper for them. Sailor hitched up a team to the buckboard to carry their belongings to Lobo Wells, and they drove away at sundown.
Len looked back and waved at Hashknife and Sleepy, but the two old men kept their eyes straight ahead. They didn’t want to look back. There was a suspicion of moisture in Hashknife’s eyes as he turned away, but his lean jaw was set with determination.
“Well,” said Sleepy expansively, “we’ve got a job on our hands, Hashknife.”
“We shore have, pardner. Hope the god of luck is with us. I’m still pawin’ in the dark, I tell yuh. Just guessin’, guessin’, without a danged thing to back me up. What do yuh do when yo’re holdin’ two deuces in a stiff poker game, Sleepy?”
“Think they’re a full house and play ’em hard.”
“That’s what I’m doin’; prayin’ to a special little god of mine—and bluffin’ like a fool. As soon as it’s dark, we’ll saddle up and sneak back to town.”
“Is this the end of the trail, Hashknife?”
“Who knows? I tell yuh, I’m bluffin’. I ain’t even got a pair of deuces. But when the other feller don’t know it⸺”
“Where does that girl come in on it, Hashknife?”