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"Whut if," said Craig, exhaling cigar smoke out over his lower lip, "it ain't the hill out there at all? S'pose it's them.....?"
"I never said as how it wuz th' hill," said Smokes. He pressed the far corner of his spectacles' frame with his forefingers.
The oil lamp they'd found in the shack was alight on the wooden table, making the room a streaky yellow color. Thin sooty smoke, almost the same shade as Smokes' hair, was spiraling up toward a spot near the ceiling and then curving to the right. Tiny bugs, looking like specks of darkness, circled the smoking lamp and one ghost-white moth clung to its glass shield.
"The Utes," Craigh went on. "Them's th' ones who's prolly hangin' 'round out there right now. They got Hopalong an' theys jus' waitin' an watchin'."
"Naw, they ain't that patient," Smokes assured him. "Hopalong's been gone fer a half-hour or sumptin' like the. More 'n likely he done fell in a hole or got hisself kicked in th' noggin by a horse. Whute'er it is, Craig, ye kin trot on out an' bring 'im back 'ere. An' if ya cain't find 'im, leastwise git us some vittles. Maybe this-here yeller-haired hussy an' I'll be havin' supper together in a while."
"Sumptin' got 'im," persisted Craig. "Now ya wanna give 'em a shot at me."
"If I gotta go out there m'self, it ain't gonna be so good fer ya, Craig."
Craig took one more puff of his cigar. Carefully he bent, and stubbed it out on the dirt floor. He drew out his cigar case and returned the butt to it. After he'd put the case back in his pocket a derringer appeared in his right hand.
"Tain't gonna do ya much good agin' a pack o' wild savages," observed Smokes.
"I like how it feels in m' hand." Craig walked through the doorway.
The night sky was clouding, graying. It seemed harder to breathe outside than it'd been inside the shack.
Craig, eyes clicking back and forth, walked stiffly towards the horses. The animals didn't seem nervous; that was a good sign.
Off to his right, a night bird called. Or was it a Ute trying to sound like a bird? No, that was a bird sure enough.
He passed out of range of the yellow light spilling from the shack. Darkness thickened around him. 245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLVkwFUDFad
There was something on the ground beside the pack horse. Craig slowed even more, squinting.
It was a provision sack sprawled there; one tin of beans had rolled out.
No sign of Hopalong, though.
Gun in hand, Craig lowered himself to pick up the sack of food.
Two separate and intense pains struck him. One in the wrist, which caused him to drop his small gun. The other was in the neck and the side of the head. That caused him to fall and slide over into a blackness darker than the night.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtUbsPu7ObC
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Morisson's bloody beard fluttered as he laughed. "Yer next, Smokes."245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG1KnINewwF
Smokes was at the single window, standing sideways so he could watch the three of them as well as the night woods. "Shut yer pie 'ole, papa grizzly," he warned, "or I'll quiet ya down for good an' all.
Katherine was looking at the giant. "This friend of yours," she asked, "could he be out there?"
"Ain't nobody friends wi' me," replied Morisson.
"She means Robinson," said Hare. "John Robinson's son."
"Got no idea where he's at," said Morisson. "What I think is, it's Ute Indians out there, all 'round us. Waitin' t' git a'hold a' Smokes so they kin cut 'im up into lil' bitty chunks."
"Shut yer pie 'ole, papa grizzly," Smokes said once more. He pressed his thin lips tightly together.
The night was turning even cloudier, a warm thickness flowed in from outside.
"Cain't nobody sneak up on this place without I know it," said Smokes. "Spent a good part o' my life in worse places 'n this. Ah kin 'ear th' quietest Injun ever was."
Morisson said, "Yer pals didn't hear nuttin'."
Smokes glanced at Katherine and her husband. "Ya think it could be th' Utes?"
Hare told him, "You know more about this area than we do."
Tapping at his waist, Smokes said, "I got this here six-shooter I took off'n ya right here. That gives us two dang guns."
"But not much ammunition," said Hare.
"No, damn it, it's all out there wi' th' 'orses," said Smokes. "Hey, papa grizzly, didja have anythin' like bullets stashed 'ere?"
"You been through the 'ole place a'lookin' fer gold," Morisson answered. "Didja find any?"
"Nope." Smokes looked again at the hot, humid night. "S'we got a dozen shots agin----well, usually them Utes, a raidin' party, they ain't got more 'n seven, eight braves."
"You gonna hafta do some damn good shootin'," said Morisson.
"I might waste me a bullet on you, ya oversized shike-poke, if ya...."
A hand had come flashing through the window and caught his throat.
Smokes made a distant gasping sound. The powerful. hand let go and he fell to the dirt floor.
"Is it....?" cried Katherine.
"Nope, it's him," said Morisson.
Robinson appeared in the doorway. "You see, Mr. Morisson," he said, "you do have a friend."
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