“I hoped you’d go, Hashknife. I’m curious too.”
CHAPTER XVI—LOST—A HAT
“What do you think of it, Sleepy?” asked Hashknife, as they saddled their horses.
“Fine!” grunted Sleepy. “This is action, cowboy. When they start knockin’ officers down and bustin’ jail, I’m feelin’ good.”
They mounted their horses and rode out to the Circle Spade. There was a light in the bunk-house, but none in the ranch-house. They dismounted and sneaked up to the bunk-house window, where they looked in and saw Monty Adams and Steve Winchell, humped over at a table, playing seven-up.
They walked back to the corral, where they sat down and debated what to do. Slim did not want to go to the ranch-house and make a search. It might be productive of a lot of trouble, especially at night.
And as they sat there in the shelter of the corral fence, a horse and rider came to the ranch, dismounted near them, turned the horse into the corral, carried the saddle to the stable, and then went to the ranch-house. It was Chuckwalla Ike. He lighted a lamp in the living-room and took it upstairs with him.
“Foxy old devil!” snorted Slim. “He was too wise to bring Rance out here. Now where do yuh suppose he took him? Not to the Half-Box R, nor to the JML. He wouldn’t have had time to go to the JML. I’ll bet he stocked a hide-out in the hills.”
“No use lookin’ for him at night,” said Sleepy. “We might as well go back to town and wait for daylight.”
“Yeah; and he won’t be so easy to take ag’in,” complained Slim. “Old Rance is a danged fine shot, and he knows every inch of this country.”