“Turkey Track, eh? Anybody home?”
“Yessah—me.”
“Good. Now that yo’re at home, John, mebbe yuh can tell us how to find Jack Hartwell’s place.”
“Jack Ha’twell? Yessah, I sabe. Yo’ want find him place?”
“If it ain’t stretchin’ yore imagination too much.”
“Yessah. Yo’ go those way.” He pointed back across the kitchen. “Yo’ find road pretty quick. Bimeby yo’ find Ha’twell place.”
“Uh-huh,” nodded Hashknife. “I sabe fine, John. Much obliged.”
“Yessah, yo’ find plenty good now. Goo’-ni’.”
He shut the door in their faces, and they heard him drop the bar into place.
“Yuh can’t beat a chink for caution,” laughed Hashknife, as they mounted their horses. “We must ’a’ swung away north of Jack Hartwell’s place.”