“Yeah. Probably fallen down by this time. It’s down there in a coulée, kinda out of the way, if it ain’t fallen down.”
“We’ll take a look at her,” said Hashknife, starting back to the horses. “In this game yuh can’t afford to overlook anythin’.”
They mounted and followed Jack down through the timbered draw, which opened on to brushy hillsides.
“Take it easy,” advised Hashknife. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
“What do you expect to find down there?” asked Jack.
“Yuh never can tell, pardner. Just lead us in the slickest way.”
It was about two miles from where they had mounted to where Jack led them over the crest of a broken ridge and pointed toward the brushy bottom below them.
“Yuh can see the top of the old shack, Hartley.”
“And that ain’t all,” said Hashknife quickly. “Get down!”
They slid out of their saddles and forced the horses to move further back. Through the screen of trees they could see part of the old corral, where two men were working with horses. It was impossible to see just what was going on, but a few minutes later two men rode down the coulée, mounted on a black and bay horse.