“We done hired out fer the job, Tad. Let’s play our string out. Shucks, I’d hate tuh be bluffed out by ary sign.”
Tad nodded thoughtfully.
“Kipp aimed that we should go through. There’s more to this play than a bad debt, and I’m right curious tuh turn the next page. Haze that hammer-headed, pack-slippin’ mule on to the trail and we’ll git goin’, pardner. I’m rearin’ tuh git a squint at this here Basset hombre, providin’ he ain’t linin’ his sights on my briskit. Likewise, li’l’ ’un, bear this in mind. Don’t go clawin’ fer no gun iffen we gits jumped. Set tight and lemme augur ’em some. We ain’t crossin’ this dead-line tuh burn powder. If it comes to the wust and there’s no other way outa the tight, we takes our own parts like gentlemen. We ain’t huntin’ no trouble and, on the other hand, we ain’t stoppin’ no soft-nosed bullets with our carcasses if we kin keep from it. And git a tail holt on yore ingrowed temper, sabe? The fust sign I reads uh you comin’ to a boil and buckin’ yore cover off, I knocks yuh between the horns. Hear me, runt?”
“Yeah. I hear yuh. Yo’re bellerin’ fit tuh be heard a mile. I ain’t growed deef on this trip. Fer a forty dollar a month cow hand, yuh shore kin git shet of a heap uh advice. I’ll remind yuh about it when yo’re yellin’ fer me tuh pull this Basset feller off yuh. Git along, mule.”
Hours passed and the moon rose. If the future held any fear for these two followers of the dim trails, they gave no sign. Shorty rode in the lead, picking the trail. Sometimes he sang and as the words of the lament drifted back to Tad, the lanky puncher grinned his appreciation and hummed an off-key accompaniment. Now and then they dozed, heads swaying gently with the movements of their horses. Innumerable cigarets were rolled, smoked and the butts pinched out. Thus the night wore on and the first streak of dawn found them halted before a pole gate.
Beyond the gate, lining the near-by creek, were innumerable tall cottonwoods. A thin spiral of smoke lifted from the chimney of a hidden cabin. Twenty feet beyond the gate was a buck-brush thicket. Not a sound broke the quiet of the morning.
Shorty leaned in his saddle to pluck forth the wooden pin that held the gate closed. A moment later he straightened.
“She’s locked with a stay chain and padlock, Tad,” he called softly.
“Reckon we better call out afore we goes further with the game. Haloooooo!”
He raised his voice in a wolf-like howl. Followed a moment of silence. Then, in an ordinary tone of voice that caused both punchers to jump with surprise, a man called from the brush patch: