Sleepy went up the ladder first. It was no difficult climb, and he sprawled in the brush, while Hashknife came slowly up, holding with his elbows to the narrow rungs. It was a painful proceeding for him, but he managed to get over the top.
For a while they sat together in the brush, gathering their strength.
“I’ve got one pretty black eye,” declared Sleepy, “and my scalp kinda goes flip-flap in one place, but I’ll live, I reckon. I wish I knowed where Big Medicine and the boys are. I left ’em on a pinnacle, while I investigated.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Just before dark. I don’t know how long I slept. Mebbe my clothes are out of style by this time.”
He took out his gun and worked the action.
“It’s all right,” he decided. “Now what’ll we do?”
He did not ask Hashknife for the details of what happened since he had been knocked down in the K-10 ranch-house. The past could wait to be talked about.
“I didn’t get a look at the outside of the place,” said Hashknife. “They kept me blindfolded. But they’re scared, cowboy. Don’t never let anybody tell yuh that Baldy Kern and his crew ain’t plumb scared. Torres is there, too, and he’s scared. They know damn well that they’re up against a hard deal.
“When you got away at the K-10, that ruined it for them. I’ll bet yore ears burned a lot of times, over what they said. Baldy thought he had killed yuh. Lee Yung, the Chinaman, is one of their outfit. Faro Lannin’ is down there, too. I dunno where he fits in, but he’s not one of Baldy’s outfit. There’s another big Mexican called Gonzales. I owe him somethin’ for givin’ me a drink of hooch. Boy, I shore needed it just then. Well, let’s go.”