“Let’s get under cover and wait for daylight.”
“While our li’l boss wanders around this God-forsaken place in the dark?” asks Windy. “I’m goin’ out and find her.”
“All right,” says Hashknife, “go ahead. I’ve got a hunch that somebody’ll lead yuh up a heap if yuh climb any farther, but it’s your business, Windy.”
“Who’d lead me up?”
“Tell yuh tomorrow—or, I reckon I’d better say, today. Must be gettin’ toward mornin’.”
A deer came along after while, and if Hashknife hadn’t grabbed my arm I’d a took a shot at it. I thought it was a man with a white pack on his back. It sure was sneaking along mysterious-like. My nerves had got to a frazzled state. I ain’t brave. Nope—not when it’s so danged dark that I can’t see which way to run.
After while it begins to get lighter and the old moon begins to lose a lot of his yaller. Down the hill a cougar rises his voice in sorrow and wo, and far away we hears the nicker of a horse.
“I can see to notch my sights,” announces Hashknife, after while, “and I reckon I can recognize a friend as far as I can hit anything. Let’s go.”
“Who do we shoot at?” I asks. “Any preference, Hashknife?”
“I reckon they’ll show their hand, Sleepy. Keep your danged head down.”