‘It does sound crazy,’ smiled Hashknife.
‘Like a sheep-herder’s dream,’ grunted Sleepy. ‘After we left you we spent about three hours tryin’ to find a way down into that damn cañon, but had to give up. It’s one awful place, Hashknife. I don’t sabe how you ever found a place to get in. Me and Lem had an idea of tryin’ to get down at the lower end, but gave it up until we heard from you.’
‘Where are the other boys?’ asked Hashknife.
‘Mesa City, gettin’ their bills wet,’ grunted Sleepy. ‘Spike Cahill dang near broke his neck in that cañon. He thought he could slide a hundred feet down a thirty-foot rope, but found it was too short on one end.’
Nan poured the coffee and refilled the pot. She and Rex split the half pie, while Rex bathed his feet in warm water. He was too tired even to tell them if the water was too hot, and Sleepy almost cooked him with it.
‘Well, what next?’ asked Lem, finishing his coffee.
Hashknife shoved his cup aside and got to his feet.
‘I reckon we’ll go back to Mesa City,’ he said.
Sleepy eyed him closely, knowing that something real had caused him to make that decision. It was not merely to go to town; Hashknife’s feet were too sore for a pleasure trip.
‘We’re with yuh, cowboy,’ declared Sleepy. ‘My God, yore feet must be tender.’