“The idea is,” grunted Hashknife, “to make us look like we’ve come to beat ⸺!”
“Lather, eh?” grunted Slim. “Gimme half that soap, and I’ll fix up this side. You hold the rollin’ stock, Sleepy.”
It did not take long for them to make that horse look as if it had run many miles. They splashed and rubbed until Hashknife stepped back and grinned his appreciation. Then he scooped up a double handful of dust, threw it in the air and let it settle on him, like white ash.
“All right, boys,” he said, swinging into the saddle. “Stay where yuh are until I go past. Then leave yore broncs here and sneak in, keepin’ under cover. If I need yuh, you’ll get a signal. Now, get back, ’cause I’m goin’ to throw dust.”
He rode back about two hundred yards, swung the horse around and came past them as fast as the horse could run. The pounding hoofs threw dust all over them, but they tied their horses and ran along the road, keeping against the brush.
Hashknife did not slacken speed, until almost at the door of the ranch-house. Big Dutch Siebert stepped to the doorway and the sliding hoofs slithered gravel against the half-open door.
Hashknife’s coming was so sudden that the Dutchman did not seem to know just what to do. And Hashknife was out of the saddle and around to Dutch almost before the horse came to a stop. Hashknife took one keen look back up the road, whirled on Dutch and stepped to the threshold.
“Get inside—quick!” snapped Hashknife.
Siebert stepped back quickly. He was a huge man, flat of face, narrow-eyed, one side of his mouth sagging from a big chew of tobacco. Once his big right hand swayed back past his holstered gun, but came away. He was being rushed so fast he didn’t have time to think. And Dutch Siebert was not a fast thinker.
“Ed sent me!” snapped Hashknife. “He didn’t dare to come, because they’re watchin’ him. There’s been a leak, Dutch. Ed says to get Joe out of here as fast as yuh can, because they’re comin’ to search the place. You know what that means? Hurry up, you ⸺ fool; they’re comin’!”