‘I’m goin’ down,’ declared Hashknife.
‘Yuh don’t suppose that Nan Lane and that fool kid are down there, do yuh?’
Hashknife studied his glass of liquor for a moment.
‘Bowen,’ he said slowly, ‘I don’t know. But there’s no other place to look. They never got to Cañonville; they never came home. Nan’s horse came back. They either went up or down, and I’m bettin’ they went down.’
‘But why should they, Hartley?’
‘Who knows? I’m playin’ the buzzards, Bowen.’
‘Uh-huh,’ thoughtfully. ‘Well, it’s a good bet. We’ll go with yuh, cowboy. I don’t know any trail down there, but we’ll find one. It’s worth a try. When do we start?’
‘Right now.’
‘Saddle up!’ snorted Spike, sending his glass spinning down the bar. ‘C’mon.’
‘You might get in off the mesa on the lower end,’ called Dave Morgan. ‘They tell me the deer come in that way.’