"I guess that's Steele's business an' it ain't ours. The rest is up to Ed an' the Queen."
He sighed, stretched his thick arms above his towselled head, yawned widely and rose to his feet. He had ended this first conference at Hell's Goblet and the darkness was thickening.
"It's a half mile to our camp, Bill," he reminded his companion. "An' I've a notion to travel before it gets any darker so's not to break my neck on a rock pile. G' night, Steele."
"Good night, Wilson," said Steele.
Rising with Bill Rice he put out his hand.
"I'm much obliged, Bill," he said quietly.
Rice, as their hands met, stood looking Steele squarely in the eye for a long moment.
"It looks funny, damn' funny, to me," he said slowly, "I always thought this was her land. Hurley always thought so, an' it's open an shut she ain't sold to you! Dead sure you ain't made a mistake, Steele?"
"Dead sure, Bill."
"Then," said Rice, "good night."
And he followed Turk Wilson's disappearing form into the deeper darkness where what they were pleased to term a trail led down to their camp. When both men were gone from sight Steele was chuckling in anticipation of complications ahead. But, with his own camp preparations still before him he turned back to his fire, threw on an armful of dead branches and set about making his bed.
Tomorrow he would cut fir boughs for his mattress; tonight he was content to spread his blankets out upon
