The three cowboys went outside, mounted their horses and rode away. A heavy smoke was curling up from the stove pipe, a smoke that would be visible for a long way. Hashknife chuckled joyfully.
“Slim De Larimore will probably see that smoke, and come a-whoopin’. It’s probably the signal that will bring ’em in from the dead-line, in case any strangers are around the ranch, and the Chink will get merry —— from his boss. So we’ll just step off a piece and watch the effects.”
As soon as they were well out of sight from the ranch, they rode into a brushy coulée, dismounted and sneaked to the crest, where they could get almost a bird’s-eye view of the ranch house. The heavy smoke no longer rolled from the stove pipe, evidence that the Chinaman had removed the green fuel.
It was about half an hour later when two riders approached the ranch from the east. They rode boldly up to the house and dismounted.
“I’m bettin’ that the smoke signal didn’t bring them in,” said Hashknife, but added, “unless the signal means that everythin’ is all right. They busted right in, didn’t they? Recognize the horses, Jack?”
“Not at this distance, Hartley. One of ’em is a light buckskin and the other is a rangy-lookin’ gray. They don’t belong to the Turkey Track, that’s a cinch. Honey Wier rides a gray, but that man wasn’t Honey Wier. And I don’t know of anybody in Lo Lo that rides a light buckskin. There they come out again.”
The two men had left the house and came out to their horses. The Chinaman was with them, and the three grouped together for several minutes before the two mounted and rode away. It looked as if they were going to ride past, which would give the three cowboys a chance to see who they were, but they turned and rode southwest, going down through a brushy swale and disappearing into the heavy cover.
“What’s down that way?” asked Hashknife.
Jack squinted thoughtfully for a moment, “Well, I dunno. There ain’t nothin’ much. Looks like they were heading for the forks of Slow Elk and the river. Maybe they’re goin’ to Totem City. Just above where we crossed Slow Elk, there’s an old shack and a corral. Anyway, there used to be. An old coyote hunter used it a couple years ago.”
“An old shack, eh?”