‘Shore am, Lem.’
‘Here’s the key to my office. If I ain’t back by five o’clock, I wish you’d feed my prisoners, Bunty.’
‘Glad to do it, Lem. What do yuh know?’
‘I don’t know a damn thing, Bunty. See yuh later.’
They rode back along the mesa to the Coyote Cañon grades, riding swiftly, until they started climbing. It was a long, slow climb to where the grades flattened out around the cañon. They met the stage coming from Mesa City. The driver was a man from south of Cañonville. He nodded pleasantly, as they crowded their horses against the inner bank to let the stage pass.
‘Joe Cave used to drive stage, didn’t he?’ asked Hashknife.
‘For a long time,’ replied Lem. ‘Been here a long time. Used to work for the 6X6. Worked for the Flying M, too. I thought he’d make a good deputy, but I was wrong. Good shot, Joe is. I’ve seen him shoot. Fast with a gun.’
Lem spoke jerkily. He was too fat to ride fast. Suddenly Hashknife drew up his horse and looked down into the cañon. A flock of perhaps fifty buzzards were circling below them; floating without apparent effort. They could look down on their backs from the grade. They were apparently keeping about the same level.
‘Quite a flock of buzzards,’ observed Lem. ‘Probably a lion killed a deer down there, and they want their share. Lots of lions down there, Hashknife. Rocks full of ’em. Notice the way them buzzards act? Probably the lion chased ’em away.’
‘Uh-huh,’ grunted Hashknife. ‘It’s a wonder that deer would go down in that cañon, Lem.’