"All right. It’s this way: Schatz deals to Peters from a cold deck. He gets all th’ money out o’ the bank, Peters’, McAllister’s, an’ his. Then he lets me lift it, him not knowin’ who I am, o’ course. I do th’ mysterious disappearance act an’ Schatz makes foolish noises too late. A posse takes after me an’ runs into a blind trail. I circle back to town. Right there is where I fool Schatz. He thinks I ’m driftin’ along the Big Moose trail to hand th’ money over to him graceful. ’Stead o’ that I ’m snortin’ along the track to Helena with you. Schatz dassent make no holler an’ we leave him an’ Peters to fight it out. Do you get me?" "They will kill you." "Oh, not a whole lot, I reckon. I ’m gettin’ so used to bein’ killed thataway, I sorter like it. Talk sense. Where’s th’ ole man?" "I will leave a letter for him." "Hip hooray! Mighty nigh kissin’-time, Rose. _Would_ be, on’y I can’t leave this blasted cayuse: ’fraid to trust him. Which way you goin’? Don’t show in Wayback. Hit th’ river farther west." Pickles had heard enough. His exit through the window was rapid and silent. His retreat from the house, made along two sides of a triangle, was prompted by his knowledge of the positions of Rose and Dave and he manoeuvred so they should not be able to see him. Nevertheless the security of the barn was very welcome, although he gained it only to recall that the Goat was at pasture. Then Swallow must be in the corral. He looked from the rear door. Yes, there he was, close to the fence, gazing across the grass at the field stock and no doubt wishing he were with them. Whimpering with suppressed delight the boy ran silently to his rope, hanging in long loops over two pegs in the wall; he coiled it ready to hand, crept out the door, and was at Swallow with the rush of a bob-cat. The great stallion made one mighty bound, lashed out one foot and stood with flattened ears; he knew the meaning of a rope in that position as well as any cow-pony in Montana and the indignity vexed while it subdued him. Pickles never bridled and saddled so rapidly in his short life. Keeping the barn between him and the house, he rode a mile or more out of his course before he dared to turn; then he took his bearings, set a straight line for the Double Y ranch, and gave Swallow his head. The good horse, scarcely feeling the boy’s light weight, went forward with a rush, but responded to the light hand on the bridle and settled down, travelling mile after mile with the tireless stride and ease of movement that had won him his name.