They rode onward silently.
When they reached the southern slope of Indian Ridge, Racey headed to the east. A spirit of unease lit heavily upon the sagging shoulders of Rack Slimson.
"You ain't goin' straight for Farewell," he remarked at a venture.
"I ain't—no."
"I thought you was."
"I am—but not straight."
"Huh?" Rack Slimson wrinkled his forehead at this.
"We're goin' in town from the side," explained Racey Dawson.
This, too, was a puzzler. "Why?" queried Rack Slimson.
"So's nobody will know we're coming till we're there." The smile with which Racey garnished his answer was chilling to the soul of Mr. Slimson.