“You’ve got my consent,” grunted Blue, and as Easton drove out of town he added, “I hope t’ —— you run off a grade and never hit bottom.”
Hashknife, Sleepy and Skelton had left town immediately following the inquest. Hashknife was standing in the ranch-house doorway when Easton drove past, headed for Gunsight—the terminus of a branch railroad.
Easton did not look toward the house, but Hashknife recognized him.
“There goes the foreman of the 88, Skelton,” he said.
“Th’ son-of-a-rooster!” grunted Skelton. “He’s done read that letter and he’s goin’ to meet her in Gunsight.”
Easton disappeared around a curve in a cloud of dust, and Hashknife rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“How far’s it to Gunsight?”
“Thirty miles—about.”
“Huh!” Hashknife cogitated deeply. “If she comes in tonight, he’ll likely make the return trip with her.”