The men stood aside and watched him ride away. As soon as he was out of earshot, King swore harshly.
“You had the right idea, Steen,” he said, “but I didn’t want him to think that his comin’ bothered us any. We’ve got to tighten the line. Next thing we know a whole horde of men will come ridin’ over the hill, and —— will be holdin’ a recess. But I don’t think that Hartwell will tell what he knows.”
“Was that young Hartwell?” asked Bill Steen, foreman for King.
“Yeah.”
King nodded shortly and went back into his tent, where he sat down on the creaking cot, leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the ground. From beyond the immediate hills came the sound of several rifle shots. The big sheepman shook his head slowly, thoughfully. Steen lifted the flap of the tent.
“I’m sendin’ all the men down to the line for the rest of the night” he said. “We’ll likely have to draw the herd back a little early in the mornin’, ’cause they’ll prob’ly start shootin’ at ’em.”
“I s’pose,” King nodded. “Not too far, though. We’ll have our own men placed, and mebbe we can do a little shootin’, too.”
“Sure. We ought to string ’em out pretty wide tomorrow. I think we’ve got more men than they have, and by stringin’ out kinda wide, we can slip through the holes any old time yuh say. I don’t think they can stop us when we get ready to start.”
“When we get ready,” echoed King. “We’re not ready yet.”
“Yeah, this is the right road, but where is that danged trail the sheriff told us about?” complained Sleepy. “I tell yuh we’re past it, Hashknife.”