“I reckon I hav’, an’ sense ‘nough ter know it without bein’ told.  Did yer think I wanted ter be catched on this job?”

“All right, but thar’s no harm a tellin’ yer.  Don’t be so damn touchy.  Eneyboddy in the shack?”

“No; only the woman, asleep on a stool.”

“Whar’s Tim gone to?”

“I reckon he don’t even know hisself; he’s sure sum drunk.”

Rale chuckled, patting the side of the horse next him.  “Whole caboodle workin’ like a charm,” he said, good humoredly.  “Thought onct the deputy might show up ugly, but a quart o’ red-eye sure fixed him—­thar’s our party a comin’ now.  Ye’re ter stay right whar ye are.”

They were advancing toward us up the bank which sloped down toward the creek.  It occurred to me they must be following some well-worn path, from the silence of their approach—­the only sound being a faint rustling of dead leaves.  Rale moved forward to meet them across the little open space, and a moment later, from my hiding place among the motionless horses, I became able to distinguish the slowly approaching figures.  There were four in the party, apparently from their garb two men and two women.  The second man might be the preacher, but if so, why should he be there?  Why should his presence at this time be necessary?  Unless the two main conspirators had special need for his services, I could conceive no reason for his having any part in the action that night.  Had I been deceived in their plans?  The horror of the dawning conception that possibly I had waited too long, and that the deed I sought to prevent had already been consummated, left me trembling like an aspen.  Even as this fear overwhelmed me with consternation, I was compelled to notice how helplessly the first of the two women walked—­as though her limbs refused to support her body, even though apparently upheld by the grip of the man beside her.  Rale, joining them, immediately grasped her other arm, and, between the two, she was impelled forward.  The saloon keeper seemed unable to restrain his voice.

“Yer must’r give her one hell o’ a dose,” he growled, angrily.  “Half o’ thet wud a bin ’nough.  Why, damn it, she kin hardly walk.”

“Well, what’s the odds?” it was Kirby who replied sarcastically.  “She got more because she wouldn’t drink.  We had to make her take it, and it wasn’t no easy job.  Gaskins will tell you that.  Have you got your man here?”

“O’ course; he’s waitin’ thar with the hosses.  But I’m damned if I like this.  She don’t know nuthin’, does she?”

“Maybe not now; but she’ll come around all right, and she signed her name.  So there ain’t no hitch.  She seemed to get worse after that.  Come on, we can’t stand talking here; let’s get them off, Jack, there isn’t any time to waste.  I suppose we’ll have to strap her into the saddle.”