"Only one way down to the desert," broke in Jackson. "Thet's Coyote Springs trail."
"You and I'll go over there," said Sheridan. "Jim, you streak it like all hell was after you to the Diamond W and bring our outfit and theirs to Coyote Springs trail. Burn the wind."
"Tell 'em to pack an' extry gun or two," said Red. "When all this happen, Jim?"
"'Bout hour after sunset, I reckon. It was dark."
"All right, Jim, off you go." The rider wheeled and raced away.
"They'll likely wait till the moon," said Red.
"I hope so, for Quong's sake. Lucky we've eased our horses along. He is trying to play even for the other night. Come on."
Together they rode south, fast, not sparing the mare or Red's pinto, covering mile after mile towards the crumbly wall where the mesa fell down to the desert in steep but broken cliffs, staired by the one trail at Coyote Springs. And they rode in silence, their thoughts on the grim picture of what might be happening.
