"North?"
"Yeah, couldn't stand the climate in Arizona, he said," amplified Tommy, loosening the knot. "Git up, feller, pull your freight. Life's sure funny. I'll bet that calf's the first Daley ran our iron on. He only joined the outfit last week. Let's go see if I know the other feller."
Since the place where the dead man lay was on their back trail, they went with Tommy, the TU boy.
"Sure, I know him," declared Tommy, after one look at the dead face. "He's named Brindley—been with the Horseshoe since February."
Which simple statement explained the presence of Skinny Shindle, but left Jack Murray completely to the imagination. After all, decided Billy, Jack Murray did not matter, and promptly forgot him. Had he known how important a place the slippery Mr. Murray actually held in the scheme of things, he, Billy Wingo, would not have been so casual.
"We gotta make a heap of trail," said Dawson to Billy, when Tommy had departed in suspicious haste. "That damn Tommy is going to the ranch for the rest of his bunch. First thing we know we'll lose our prisoner."
"Don't hurry on my account," said the sardonic Slike. "If I gotta be hung, lemme be hung and no fuss about it. I don't want to ride all the way north again."
"We need you, Dan," said Billy briefly. "No hanging goes yet a while."
Forthwith they began to "make a heap of trail." It may as well be said at once that they saw no further signs of Tommy or any other of the TU boys.
Toward dawn next day the horses showed signs of tiring. "Mine won't last another five miles," said Johnny Dawson.