But he wanted to have the
deputies there.
At dusk he got his call. He learned that four picked men had started for
the Pass, and that they would reach the divide by daybreak. Others were
on their way to intercept Al Woodruff if he crossed before then.
It was all that Swan could have hoped for,--more than he had dared to
expect on such short notice. He notified the operator that he would not
be there to receive anything else, until he returned to report that he
had got his men.
"Don't count your chickens till they're hatched," came facetiously out
of the blue.
"By golly, I can hear them holler in the shell," Swan sent back,
grinning to himself as he rattled the key. "That irrigation graft is
killed now. You tell the boss Swan says so. He's right. The way to catch
a fox is to watch his den."
He switched off the current, closed the case and went out, making sure
that the cupboard-camouflaged door looked perfectly innocent on the
outside. With a bannock stuffed into one pocket, a chunk of bacon in the
other, he left the cabin and swung off again in that long, tireless
stride of his, Jack following contentedly at his heels.
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