“If we think of any place we didn’t look, we’ll come back,” said McGurk peevishly. “You got away with it this time, I guess.”
“Kinda looks like it,” grinned Hashknife. “Mind tellin’ us what was in them pack sacks?”
McGurk looked him over coldly. He wanted to make some cutting remark, but Hashknife’s grin was too infectious. So McGurk grinned, although wearily, and mounted his horse.
“I don’t know what was in ’em,” he admitted. “I don’t know whether there was anythin’ in ’em or not. The rest of the story is just like I told it to you. Drugs are bein’ run across the line in big bunches, and if any man deserves killin’, it’s a drug-runner. Lotsa times I can forgive a horse-thief or a murderer, but not a drug-runner.”
“Same here,” said Hashknife thoughtfully. “Officer, you’ve got the story pretty straight, but there’s a few pages missin’. Go back to the border and try again next time. I reckon there’ll be a next time.”
“What do you mean?” queried McGurk.
“You’ll have to guess,” grinned Hashknife.
The three officers rode away, wondering what Hashknife meant, while the Tumbling H men lost no time in asking Hashknife what he meant. But Hashknife refused to say. He knew what it would mean to Big Medicine to have that cargo of drugs found on the Tumbling H, so he said nothing. Jack Hill, the invalid, heard what had been said, from just inside the front door, but asked no questions.
He went back to his seat in the shade at the rear of the ranch-house, where he re-read an old magazine. Hashknife, Sleepy, and Ike elected to spend their time at the corral, breaking a pair of colts, while Big Medicine, Musical, and Cleve saddled their horses and rode into the hills toward the border.