Now for fifteen minutes he walked about over the ground. It was hard and firm here--almost as smooth as the surface of a dry lake, with no loose sand in which the paper might be concealed and little desert growth.
Returning he lifted the mare's feet one by one, then faced Hiram again.
"Open your mouth," he commanded; and Hiram obeyed, displaying an empty cavity.
"Well, ole hoss, I guess the game's up for you folks," Drummond said chuckling. "I never thought we'd be lucky enough to get rid of the original. So now we'll leave you to put on your clothes and go your way. You may see Jerkline Jo and tell her your little story; and you two can discuss what's best to do. When you've decided, come to me and we'll dicker with you."
"How 'bout takin' 'im into the mountains?" asked Pete in a low voice.
"No, that won't be necessary now. We need him to put the case before Jerkline Jo. I'm against violence, anyway, in the main. And I'm not a hog, like a certain person I might mention if it weren't for Hooker's overhearing it. We'll let him go, and dicker later. Half suits me."
Drummond climbed into the saddle, and the two wheeled their horses and rode away.
"Look, Hooker!" called Drummond from a distance. "I'll drop your gun right here."
Hiram nodded and continued putting on his clothes, then resaddled the mare.
Then when the departing riders were mere specks in the distance he stepped to Babe's head, reached his fingers up one of her nostrils, and pulled out the wadded sheepskin document.
"A heap o' fellas call themselves hossmen that don't know about that little pocket in a hoss' nose," came his whimsical Mendocino drawl. "She could snort all day, but the pocket ain't connected with her nostrils." He patted Babe's glossy neck. "Li'l' black mare," he crooned into her furry ear, "le's go find Jo!"
At a late hour in the evening of the day that Hiram Hooker set out to ride with the sheepskin to Jerkline Jo, on her way to Julia, a strange figure presented itself at the door of the lighted commissary tent of Demarest, Spruce & Tillou's Camp Number Two.
"Well, who in thunder are you?" exclaimed the young commissary clerk, as his eyes fell upon a set of shaggy gray brows and a dusty, bewhiskered face.