“Yeah,” said Frijole, and came on slowly, staring at the professor and Bob Stickler.
“Slim’s got the others,” said Frijole. “They’re roped. Where in hell did these two come from?”
“Mr. Stickler came up the canyon,” said Judge, “and I hit him with a rock. Mr. Fossil came down the canyon, and Henry tackled him around the knees.”
“Nice work!” grunted Frijole. “We found ’em, startin’ up the trail, Henry. They’ve got four pack-horses, loaded with—do you want to tell ’em, Professor?”
Professor Fossil didn’t. Henry said, “Loaded with jewelry ore from the Yellow Warrior, Frijole?”
“You knowed, Henry?”
“No—I merely guessed. What’d your version, Stickler?”
“I am not talkin’,” said Stickler sullenly.
“Pete Gonyer was the leader of the gang,” said Frijole. “That dad-blamed Jud Bailey confessed. He thinks he’s goin’ to die from a bullet in the arm. Where-at is yore horses, Henry?”
“About a mile from the other end of the canyon. You know where it makes a sharp right-hand turn? You do? Well, the horses are on the left-hand side, in a little thicket. But how—?”