“Thar’s half o’ it, an’ the rest is yers when ye bring back the hosses.”

“How many hosses?  Who’s a goin’?”

“Three o’ yer.  Kirby’s fer sendin’ the mulatter gurl ’long.  She’s a free nigger an’ might let her tongue wag.  Now listen, Moffett, I’m a goin’ out putty soon ter git things ready, an’ I’ll leave Sal yere ter tend bar.  Now git this; thar’s a right smart trail back o’ the cabin, leadin’ straight down ter the crick, with a spring ’bout half way.  Thar ain’t no guard down thar, an’ ye can’t miss it, even en the dark.  The hosses will be thar et midnight waitin’ fer yer.  All ye got ter do is just put them two gurls on an’ ride away.  Yer don’t never need ter speak ter ’em.  Yer understand?  All right, then; hav’ anuther drink.”

I shook my head.

“But how’m I goin’ ter git ter this place—­whatever it’s called?”

“Thar ain’t no trouble ’bout thet; all yer got ter do is ride straight south till yer cum ter the crick, an’ yer thar.  It’s Jenkins’ Crossing yer after.”

“I reckon thar ain’t eny Injuns, er nuthin’?”

“Hell, no; they’re all t’other direction; nuthin’ worse’n wolves.  Say, though, yer might have trouble with them gurls—­got a gun?”

“No.”

He reached back into a small drawer under the shelf, and brought out an ugly-looking weapon, tried the hammer movement with his thumb, and handed it over to me with a grin.

“Some cannon, an’ I want it back.  Don’t fail at midnight.”

“An’ thar ain’t nuthin’ fer me ter do till then?”

“Not a thing; take a nap, if ye want’r.  Sal kin wake ye up.  I reckon I won’t be back till after yer off.”

I sat down in a chair and leaned back against the wall, tilting my hat down over my eyes and pretending to fall asleep.  Through half-closed lids I managed to see all that transpired in the room, and my mind was busy with the approaching crisis.  Had Rale revealed all the details of their plan to me, I wondered.  It seemed comprehensive enough, and yet it hardly appeared possible that they would thoughtlessly place in the hands of any stranger such an advantage.  It would only be natural for them to withhold something—­merely trusting me with what I actually had to know.  Yet crime was forever making just such mistakes; these men had to place confidence in someone, and, after all, it was not so strange that the saloon keeper had selected me.  I had come to him a penniless river bum, representing a class he had dealt with all his life.  I had played the part well, and he had found no reason to suspect me.  Moreover the course they were pursuing appeared perfectly natural—­the only means of carrying out their scheme, with the least possible chance for discovery.