“Have they got a Chink cook?” asked Sleepy.
“Nope. Dutch Siebert does most of the cookin’. He’s a puncher. Ed never could keep a cook, it seems, so he uses Dutch. He’s an awful flat-head.”
“Merrick?”
“No—Siebert. Danged flat-faced, obstinate sort of a cuss.”
Sleepy stretched out on the ground and pillowed his head on his arms.
“Wake me up early, mother; I’m to be queen of the May,” he grinned. “If yuh won’t tell me what we’re doin’ here, I’m goin’ to take a nap. Yuh might as well sleep, Slim.”
“Go ahead,” said Hashknife. “I’ll wake yuh up in time.”
Slim needed no second invitation, but slid out full length.
Hashknife made himself comfortable, but not to sleep. He kept an eye on the ranch-buildings, and several times he saw Merrick and Collins together. He knew Merrick well enough to distinguish him at that distance.
Time dragged on and the sun grew hot up there on the top of that knoll, but Hashknife had the patience of an Indian. It was nearly eleven o’clock when he saw Merrick and Collins saddle their horses at the corral. A third man came out from the house and talked with them, and Hashknife was sure this man was Dutch Siebert. He was bigger than either of the other two, who were fairly big men.