“Mebbe, perhaps and probably,” agreed Hashknife. “If that old moon would only come up we might be able to see somethin’. But, in the mean time, we might as well keep movin’.”
For about thirty minutes they kept going, but now they were bearing to the right a little. The hills had become more precipitous, and they felt that they were altogether too high to strike their destination.
Then Hashknife discovered a light. It was quite a way below them, but it did not take them long to find that it was a light in a ranch house window. It was plainly evident that it was not Jack Hartwell’s place, as it was a much larger ranch house. They found the gate, and rode up to the house.
The light they had seen was from a kitchen window, so around to the kitchen door they went and knocked loudly.
“Whasamalla you?” called a Chinese voice.
“Little of everythin’, John,” laughed Hashknife. “We’re lookin’ for information.”
“Yessah?”
The Chinaman evidently misunderstood. He opened the door a little, and peered out at them.
“What ranch is this?” asked Hashknife.
“Tu’key Track, yo’ sabe?”