“Here comes somebody else,” grunted Brownlee, whose ears had caught the sound of approaching horsemen. “Several of ’em, too.”
The crowd around the chuck wagon moved apart and watched the trail, where Hashknife, Sleepy and Jack were coming into view. No one spoke to them, as they dismounted, but every one of the cattlemen’s faces betrayed their astonishment. Jack walked around to his father and glanced quickly at the circle of wondering faces.
“You can let yore guns alone,” said Jack slowly. “We’re not lookin’ for trouble —we’re bringin’ yuh some.”
“Bringin’ us some?” Marsh Hartwell spoke wonderingly.
“Yeah—bringin’ yuh some,” said Jack.
“Is it about Molly?”
Jack shook his head quickly,
“I don’t know where she is.”
He turned to Hashknife.
“You tell ’em about it, Hartley; it’s yore story, anyway.”