But there were voices beginning. The yells of
Lewison had struck out echoes up and down the street.
Terry could hear shouts begin inside houses in answer,
and bark out with sudden clearness as a door or a
window was opened.
They reached the horses, dumped the precious burdens
into the saddlebags, and mounted.
“Which way?” gasped Denver.
A light flickered in the bank; half a dozen men spilled
out of the back door, cursing and shouting.
“Walk your horse,” said Terry. “Walk
it—you fool!”
Denver had let his horse break into a trot. He
drew it back to a walk at this hushed command.
“They won’t see us unless we start at
a hard gallop,” continued Terry. “They
won’t watch for slowly moving objects now.
Besides, it’ll be ten minutes before the sheriff
has a posse organized. And that’s the only
thing we have to fear.”
They drifted past the town, quickening to a soft trot
after a moment, and then to a faster trot—El
Sangre was gliding along at a steady pace.
“Not back to the house!” said Denver with
an oath, when they straightened back to the house
of Pollard. “That’s the first place
McGuire will look, after what you said to him the
other night.”
“That’s where I want him to look,”
answered Terry, “and that’s where he’ll
find me. Pollard will hide the coin and we’ll
get one of the boys to take our sweaty horses over
the hills. We can tell McGuire that the two horses
have been put out to pasture, if he asks. But
he mustn’t find hot horses in the stable.
Certainly McGuire will strike for the house.
But what will he find?”
He laughed joyously.
Suddenly the voice of Denver cut in softly, insinuatingly.
“You dope it that he’ll cut for the house
of Pollard? So do I. Now, kid, why not go another
direction—and keep on going? What right
have Pollard and the others to cut in on this coin?
You and me, kid, can—”
“I don’t hear you, Denver,” interrupted
Terry. “I don’t hear you. We
wouldn’t have known where to find the stuff if
it hadn’t been for Pollard’s friend Sandy.
They get their share—but you can have my
part, Denver. I’m not doing this for money;
it’s only an object lesson to that fat-headed
sheriff. I’d pay twice this price for the
sake of the little talk I’m going to have with
him later on tonight.”
“All right—Black Jack,” muttered
Denver. For it seemed to him that the voice of
the lost leader had spoken. “Play the fool,
then, kid. But— let’s feed these
skates the spur! The town’s boiling!”
Indeed, there was a dull roar behind them.
“No danger,” chuckled Terry. “McGuire
knows perfectly well that I’ve done this.
And because he knows that, and he knows that I know
it, he’ll strike in the opposite direction to
Pollard’s house. He’ll never dream
that I would go right back to Pollard and sit down
under the famous nose of McGuire!”
