"He can be handled. We are going to ride with them, Red and myself. To see them safely off the premises. You'll let me make that gate for the tunnel, won't you?"
She looked at him without speaking and nodded. The lack of words was, to Sheridan, an expression of confidence.
"We'll bring it along, or the materials for it, when we make our bread-and-butter call," he said.
"Your coffee-and-doughnut call, you mean." She laughed and gave him her hand. "Thank you again. We shall hope to see you soon."
"What's that bread-an'-butter bis'ness?" asked Red as they got their horses from the shed.
"A social convention, Red, seldom used west of the Mississippi, save in cities."
"Humph! Pretty social convention here tonight, at that. 'Member what I said about 'Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast'? She worked—outside of Hollister. He's jest plain skunk, that hombre. I've got a hunch that idee of yours about the gate is a good one."
"We'll come over some morning with a wagon and fix it, Red. Come on."
They pressed blunt rowels to their horses' flanks and soon caught up with the rest. There was a good deal of chaff going on as they rode down the terraces to the tunnel but Sheridan did not hear anything lacking in respect or admiration. Hollister was silent. At the tunnel he went first, spraying the way with an electric torch he had brought from Metzal. The others trailed closely, Sheridan and Red in the
