Falkner laughed, but there was only bravado in his voice. “I could ’a’ brought that elk down if it hadn’t been the closed season,” he said.
The man riding next him did not speak aloud the thought that flashed through his mind—that it had been an open season on sheepmen an hour before.
The party broke up at the Three Pines after a hurried agreement as to plans. They were all to meet at the round-up. None of them was to know anything about the raid until news of it came to the camp from outside.
Yerby and Rogers rode into the hills, the rest down to the Circle Diamond.
They covered the ground fast, so as to get into the house before any one was astir with the coming day. Already gray was sifting into the sky, a warning that the night was ending.
Larry, riding beside McCoy, looked furtively at him and asked a question just as they came in sight of the ranch.
“Who shot Gilroy, Mac?”
Rowan looked at him with bleak, expressionless eyes. “We all did.”
“Yes, but——” His whisper died away.
“None of us know who fired the shot. It doesn’t matter. Never forget one thing, Larry. We’re all in the same boat. We sink or swim together.”