Johnny nodded. "So I was told. I'm seein' yore drift, Hoppy; an' when Kane an' his friends jump me an' Red shore will have jammed guns an' not be able to shoot at 'em."
"Marriage ain't spoiled yore head," chuckled his companion. "Kane havin' us jailed that way riled me; an' McCullough tryin' to slip out of payin' them rewards has riled me some more. I'm washin' one hand with th' other. Do you think you an' Red could get yore cayuses an' an extra one for me, in case they get this one, around west somewhere back of where yo're goin'?"
"How'll this one do for you?" asked his companion, slapping the horse he was on.
"Plenty good enough."
"Then he'll be there, ready to foller th' jumpers," laughed Johnny.
"Good for you, Kid. You shore have got th' drift. Now, seein' that I may get into trouble an' be too late to go after 'em when they jump, you listen close while I tell you where to ride, an' all about it," and the description of the desert trail and the valley was as meaty as it was terse. He told his friend where to take the horses and where to look for him before the night's work began, and then went back to Kane and his men. "They're bound to head for that valley. There ain't no place else for 'em to go. I'll bet they've had that figgered for a refuge ever since they learned about it."
Johnny laughed contentedly. "An' Mac tellin' me that he's got 'em all tied up an' ain't aimin' to pay no rewards! But," he said, becoming instantly grave, "there's one thin' I don't like. I'm admittin' it's yore scheme, but we ought to draw lots to see who's goin' to use that kerosene. After all, yo're down here to help me out of a hole. Dig up some more cartridges, you maverick!"
"Don't you reckon I got brains enough to run it off?" demanded his friend.
"An' some to spare," replied Johnny; "but I ain't no idjut, myself. Here; call yore choice," and he reached for his belt.
"Yo're slow, Kid," chuckled Hopalong, holding out his hand. "Call it yourself."
Johnny hesitated, pushed back the cartridges and placed his hand on those of his friend. "You went at that like you was pullin' a gun: an' I can't say nothin' that means anythin' faster. Why th' hurry?"
"Habit, I reckon," gravely replied his friend. "Savin' time, mebby; I dunno why, you chump!"
"It's a good habit; an' I'm shore you saved considerable time, which same I'm aimin' to waste," replied Johnny. He thought swiftly. Last time he had called "even," and lost. He was certain that Hopalong wanted the task. How would his friend figure? The natural impulse of a slow-witted man would be to change the number. Hopalong was not slow-witted; on the contrary so far from slow-witted that he very likely would be suspicious of the next step in reasoning and go a step further, which would take him back to the act of the slow-witted, for he knew that the cogitating man in front of him was no simpleton. Odd or even: a simple choice; but in this instance it was a battle of keen wits. Johnny raised his own hand and looked down at his friend's, the upper one clasping and covering the lower; and then into the night-hidden eyes, which were squinting between narrowed lids to make their reading hopeless. Being something of a gambler Johnny had the gambler's way of figuring, and this endorsed the other line of reasoning: he believed the chances were not in favor of a repetition.
"Cuss yore grinnin' face," he growled. "I said 'even' last time, an' was wrong. Now I'm sayin' 'odd.' Open up!"
Hopalong opened the closed hands and his squinting eyes at the same instant and laughed heartily. "Kid, I cussed near raised you, an' I know yore ways. Mebby it ain't fair, but you was tryin' hard to outguess me. There they are—pair of aces. Count 'em, sonny; count 'em."
"Count 'em yourself," growled Johnny; "if you can count that far!" He peered into the laughing eyes and thrust out his jaw. "You know my ways, do you? Well, when we get back to th' SV, me an' you are goin' in to Dave's, get a big stack of two-bit pieces an' go at it. I'll cussed soon show you how much you know my ways! G'wan! Get out of here before I get rough!"
"He's too old to spank," mused Hopalong, kneeing the horse, "an' too young to fight with—reckon I'll have to pull my stakes an' move along." Chuckling, he looked around. "Ain't forgot nothin' about tonight, have you, child?"
"No!" thundered Johnny. "But for two-bits I would!" Hopalong's laugh came back to him and sent a smile over his face. "There ain't many like you, you old son-of-a-gun!" he muttered, and wheeled to return to the town and to Red.
His departing friend grinned at the horse. "Bronch," he said, confidently, "he shore had me again. I'm gettin' so cheatin's second nature; an' worse'n that, I'm cheatin' my best friends, an' likin' it. Yessir, likin' it! Ain't you ashamed of me? You nod that ugly head of yourn again an' I'll knock it off you! G'wan: This ain't no funeral yet!"
CHAPTER XXII
THE BONFIRE
JOHNNY rode up to the hotel, got a Winchester and ammunition for it from the stack of guns in the kitchen and then went to the stable for Red's horse and Pepper. As he led them out he stopped to answer a pertinent question from the upper window of the hotel and rode off again, leading the extra mounts.
Ed Doane lowered the rifle and scratched his head. "Goin' for a moonlight ride," he repeated in disgust as he drew back from the window. "Cussed if punchers ain't gettin' more locoed every day. Moonlight ride! Shore—go out an' look at th' scenery. Looks different in th' moonlight—bah! To me a pancake looks like a pancake by kerosene, daylight, wood fire or—or moonlight. I suppose th' moonlight'll get into 'em an' they'll be singin' love-songs an' harmonizin'; but thank th' Lord I don't have to go along!" He glanced around at a sudden thap! grinned in the darkness at the double planking on that side wall and sat down again. "Shoot!" he growled. "Shoot twice! Shoot an' be dogged! Waste 'em! Reckon th' moonlight's got into you, you cow-stealin', murderin' pup." Filling his pipe he packed and lit it, blew several clouds through nose and mouth and scratched his head again. "Goin' for a moonlight ride, huh? Well, mebby you are, Johnny, my lad; but Ed Doane's bettin' there's more'n a ride in it. You didn't go for no moonlight rides before that missin' friend of yourn turned up; an' then, right away, you ride up on one hoss, collect two more an' go gallivantin' off under th' moon. I'm guessin' close. Eddie Doane, I'll bet you a tenspot them three grizzlies are out for to put their ropes on them rewards. An' I hope they collect, cussed if I don't. That Scotch trail-boss is puttin' on too many airs for me—an' he's rilin' Nelson slow but shore. Go get it, Bar-20: I'm bettin' on you."
There came steps to his door. "Ar-re ye there, Ed?" called a voice.
"Shore; come in, Murphy."
The door opened and closed as the cook entered. "Have ye a pipeful? Mine's all gone."
"Help yourself," answered Doane, tossing the sack. "There it is, by yore County Cork feet."
"I have ut," grunted Murphy. "An' who was th' lad ye was talkin' to from th' windy just now?"
"Nelson. He's goin' ridin' in th' moonlight. Must aim to go far, for he's got three horses."