“Then we got clear trail ahead,” said Kipp. “Bill’ll pick up the gent at the rimrock, bein’ they’re sorter pardners. We might as well bed down and take it easy till mornin’. We’ll take turns standin’ guard. There’d orter be beds out under the trees so’s them as ain’t on guard kin rest. Come daylight, we’ll take the herd out and I’ll take the pris’ners tuh Hank’s place.”
This plan met with hearty approval. Not a man there but needed rest. Tad took first guard.
Black Jack, conscious now, had lapsed into a sullen silence. His black eyes were opaque, his bearded features expressionless. No amount of questioning could open his thin lips.
“That’s the Injun in him,” grinned Shorty as he and Pete followed Kipp outside in search of beds.
“My work is done, Sheriff,” smiled Pete Basset when Shorty was out of earshot. “I’m giving myself up to you. I’m ready to go back to Deer Lodge.”
“Better wait a day er so, Pete. I’m too danged busy tuh fool with yuh right now. Keep yor gun fer a spell. It may come in handy. Fox’ll have men with him when we meet up with him at the lone cottonwood to pay off yore dad’s note. This show ain’t over. Till it is, yo’re plumb free, savvy?”
“That’s white of you, Sheriff. I’ve had a hunch for a long time that you were in cahoots with Fox and his gang. Black Jack’s recent talk clinches that suspicion. Also, it’s plain that you’re breaking with the LF. I want you to know that I’m for you.”
Beyond the cottonwood grove near the corrals, Shorty was jerking the saddle from his tired horse and staking the animal out where the grass was high. He sang as he worked:
“Parson, I’m a maverick, jest runnin’ loose an’ grazin’,
Eatin’ where’s the greenest grass and drinkin’ where I choose;