Thus pondering, Tad saw Kipp ride to the bare knoll and signal with his hat. Tad was on his feet and in the saddle before the hat quit waving. Across Tad’s saddle pommel lay his Winchester, a shell in the barrel, the hammer at half-cock.
Kipp met him, smiling thinly.
“Where’s the guard?” asked Tad. “Gagged and hog-tied in the brush yonder. He quit easy when I threw down on him. We’re safe now till we hit the river bottom. They only had one man on guard today. They bin brandin’, so the gent told me. We’ll take our time now. Dark’ll come on quick here in the cañons and we’ll slip into the Pocket afore they spot us.”
“How many men down there?”
“Hard tuh tell. Mebbe three-four. Mebbe so a dozen. They drift in and out. If they bin brandin’, like as not there’ll be half a dozen.”
Kipp led the way along the narrow trail that now led along the side of the shale cliff. Tad understood now why it required but one man to guard the trail. A single man could, by hiding behind the rimrock above, drop as many men as he had cartridges in his gun. If Kipp were bent on tricking him, now was his chance.
Tad felt a shiver pass along his spine, and glanced uneasily about him. Then he shifted his gun to cover Kipp, grimly determined to shoot if treachery showed in the shape any movement near the rimrock.
Kipp, turning in his saddle to address some remark, saw Tad’s gun covering him. The faint smile on the old officer’s lips could not hide the pain of humiliation in his eyes. Tad grinned uneasily but did not shift the position of his gun.
The sheriff faced forward once more, the remark he had been about to make unspoken. In the fading light, Tad gazed at the tufts of snow-hued hair beneath the battered hat. The shoulders beneath Kipp’s faded jumper sagged as if beneath the weight of some great load.
“——,” muttered Tad, and shifted his Winchester so that the weapon rested across his saddle, muzzle toward the cliff.