“Is Jack Hill down there?” asked Sleepy.
“Yeah, only his name ain’t Hill; it’s Meline. His dad is one of the big guns of this smugglin’ layout.”
Sleepy laughed softly, as they started down through the brush.
“It kinda looked like we had some job ahead of us,” he whispered. “But it’s a job that has to be done, I reckon.”
The trip down the side of that bluff was no easy task, but they finally struck the flat ground at the corner of the shed, and crawled through the corral fence. It was light enough to distinguish the colors of the horses, and Hashknife chuckled at sight of his tall gray.
“I heard ’em talkin’ about that gray, Sleepy,” he said. “It seems that Baldy tried to ride it and got ditched good and proper.”
“I seen him rise and glide,” laughed Sleepy. “I was lookin’ back at the time. One of ’em was throwin’ lead at me, but never came within six feet of hittin’ me or the horse.”
Cautiously they circled the corner and surveyed the triangular yard. From within came the dull rumble of voices. Hashknife pointed at the opposite end of the L.
“That’s the kitchen end down there,” he whispered. “Might be a good idea to take a look in there, eh?”