“Your home? Silver Sleed’s place?”
“Yes. Don’t you see it’s the only place where they won’t search?”
“But suppose they do,” argued Duke. “What will they think of you, Miss Luck?”
“They won’t come here. Help him inside, please. They will think you hid in the rocks tonight. I know a trail that leads around Ruby Hill and you can go out that way into the desert. Nobody will ever think of watching that trail.
“I’ll get your burro and the stuff from your shack. Bring him in before some of them pass here. They may search the hill tonight.”
Duke helped the Saint to his feet and shoved him into the doorway. Luck dropped the heavy blanket curtain over the front window and lit some candles, while Duke guided the Saint to a chair.
The old man’s hair and beard were a clotted mass of red and white now, and his eyes blinked painfully in the candle-light. He tried to get to his feet, but Duke put a hand on his shoulder.
“The traps,” mumbled the Saint, “I’m going to take up the traps, Jim.”
“What does he mean?” whispered Luck.