Bad Bill shook his head. “I wouldn’t, Mac. Let’s hit the trail and do our sleeping in the hills. There’s too many telephone lines into this town to suit me.”
“Sho! We made a clean getaway, and we’re plumb wore out. Our play isn’t to hike out like we were scared stiff of something. What we want to do is to act as if we could look every darned citizen in the face. Mac’s sure right,” Curly agreed.
“You kids make me tired. As if you knew anything about it. I’m going to dust muy pronto,” Blackwell snarled.
“Sure. Whenever you like. You go and we’ll stay. Then everybody’ll be satisfied. We got to split up anyhow,” Mac said.
Bad Bill looked at Blackwell and nodded. “That’s right. We don’t all want to pull a blue streak. That would be a dead give away. Let the kids stay if they want to.”
“So as they can round on us if they’re nabbed,” Blackwell sneered.
Cranston called him down roughly. “That’ll be enough along that line, Lute. I don’t stand for any more cracks like it.”
Blackwell, not three months out from the penitentiary, faced the other with an ugly look in his eyes. He was always ready to quarrel, but he did not like to fight unless he had a sure thing. He knew Bad Bill was an ugly customer when he once got started.
“Didn’t mean any harm,” the ex-convict growled. “But I don’t like this sticking around town. I tell you straight I don’t like it.”
“Then I wouldn’t stay if I were you,” Curly suggested promptly. “Mac and I have got a different notion. So we’ll tie to Saguache for a day or two.”