“Supposin’ we skirt town complete, pardner?” suggested Bill. “If we warns Fox, we gotta go through with it er shoot it out with that buzzard. We know too danged much tuh be let run loose over the range. I ain’t cravin’ none tuh match myself with Luther Fox. He’s lightnin’ with a gun. Say we drifts east from the edge uh the Pocket?
“Let this spread hold the sack. Black Jack ner Fox wouldn’t consider us if they was in a tight. That breed ’ud kill us the same as he aims tuh kill Kipp and Pete Basset and that short waddie. Say, them two kin shore scrap, mister. Only fer Slim a-lendin’ a hand, me’n the Apache would uh bin whupped neat. My hat’s off to ’em. Dang me if I don’t hope they gits away.”
“Fat chance. The Injun is comin’ out in Black Jack. I wouldn’t give two-bits Mex. fer their chances.”
They moved on, leaving Tad grinning in the darkness. The thought of Shorty and the others being in danger but made the lanky puncher the more cool. He waited impatiently until the two riders were out of sight, then moved on at a swifter gait.
The lighted windows of the cabin showed ahead. Tad crept forward with the stealth of an Indian. A few moments and he was at one of the windows, peering inside the cabin.
Shorty, Pete, and Kipp sat side by side, propped against the wall, legs stretched out in front of them. Kipp’s head sagged forward on his chest for he was still unconscious.
In spite of the bruised and blood-caked condition of his face, it was visibly apparent that Shorty’s left cheek bulged with a huge wad of tobacco. Even as Tad looked, a brown stream shot forth from the bruised lips of the little puncher.
“Missed him, Pete,” he grinned. “Gotta raise my sights. The range is plumb long and that spider’s crawlin’ kinda zig-zag like he was dodgin’. Bet another nickel on the next shot.”
“Better put in the next few minutes sayin’ yore prayers, hombre,” said Black Jack, crossing to the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee. “A man as near the end uh the trail as you gents are, had orter be lookin’ fer a shallow crossin’.”
“Injun,” said Shorty in his soft drawl, “when I’m cravin’ ary advice, I’ll ask fer it.”