“Oh, yeah. Well—all right.”
Slim drew his six-shooter, examined the cylinder critically and put it back.
“I wish I’d ’a’ practised more,” he said dryly.
Hashknife grinned in appreciation. He felt that Slim was a dependable man. They reached the west bank of the river and rode south for about a quarter of a mile to the Circle M crossing. The water was not deep here.
Old cottonwoods grew close to the water edge and there were many cattle standing among the trees. The cowboys rode out to the open country, almost within sight of the Circle M. Hashknife studied the country. Farther on and to their left was a rather high butte, fairly well covered with brush.
“On the other side of that is the Circle M road, ain’t it?” asked Hashknife.
Slim nodded.
“Circles the bottom of it on that side. It’s only a little ways to the Circle M. There’s a little stream comes down on this side of the butte, and the road crosses it.”
Hashknife took the lead now. He rode to the south of the butte, dismounted at the foot and tied his horse in the thick brush. The other boys followed him, and they walked up through the brush to the top of the butte.
Below, and not over four hundred yards to the south, were the ranch buildings of the Circle M. Hashknife squatted down on a rocky projection and told the others to keep out of sight. There was enough high brush to make an effectual screen.