“Now, you’re talkin’,” grunted Chuck.
“And that’s about all,” said Slim quickly. “Butch Reimer ain’t so poor he has to steal horses.”
“Well, it looks to me as though I better be satisfied with the trade,” grinned Hashknife. “I dunno just where we’re goin’, but when we get there I’ll drop yuh a card. That gray horse will weight close to twelve hundred, and on his left shoulder is a Cross-in-a-Box brand. He’s five years old and he’ll buck when the spirit moves him.”
“I’ll shore keep an eye out for him, Hartley,” said Slim. “If he shows up, I’ll get him for yuh.”
“Thanks.”
Hashknife and Sleepy walked outside to their horses, followed by the sheriff and his men. Hashknife mounted, but Sleepy merely untied his animal, looking curiously at Hashknife.
“Do yuh mean that we’re headin’ back?” asked Sleepy.
“Sure,” said Hashknife seriously. “We’ll sleep in Welcome tonight, and then head south in the mornin’.”
“We will!” blurted Sleepy. “What’s the matter with you—losin’ yore grip, cowboy? Do you mean to set there and tell me that you’re goin’ to let an ignorant puncher forcibly trade yuh out of Ghost?”
“Well, it might take a long time, Sleepy. You wanted to go to Arizona pretty bad, and I just thought——”