Before riding away he considered the advisability of driving off the horses belonging to Moran's party, but there would still be others in the corral, and besides their absence, when discovered, would give warning of the impending attack. On second thought, however, he quietly made his way to the corral and caught a fresh horse of his own. When he had saddled it he set out over the old trail for the big pine. When he reached the rendezvous his men were not there; but knowing that he must meet them if he followed the road from there on he did not stop. He came upon them in a few minutes, riding toward him at full speed, with Tim Sullivan in the van, too drunk to stand erect, but able to balance himself on a horse's back, drunk or sober. "We come acrost Santry and the Sheriff a while back," explained Big Bob Lawson, one of Wade's own punchers. "They must be in town by now. We was aimin' to light into 'em, but Santry wouldn't hear of it. Course, we took our orders from him same as usual. He said to tell you that you wanted him to keep quiet, an' that's what he aimed to do." "He said we wasn't to tell you that he didn't shoot them Swedes," put in another of the men. "What?" Wade demanded sharply. "He said--hic!" broke in Tim Sullivan, with drunken gravity. "He said--hic!--that if you didn't know that without--hic!--bein' told, you wasn't no friend of his'n, an'--hic!--you could go to hell." "Shut up, you drunken fool!" Lawson snapped out. "Jensen and his herder were shot in the back, they say. That clears Santry," Wade declared, and sat for some moments in deep thought, while the men waited as patiently as they could. "Lawson," he said, at last. "You're in charge for the present. Take the boys to the big pine and camp there quietly until I come back. I'm going into town." "Hadn't you better take us with you, boss? We'll stick. We're for you an' Bill Santry an' ag'in' these--sheepherders, whenever you say the word." "That's--hic--what we are!" Sullivan hiccoughed. Wade shook his head. "No. You wait for me at the pine. You'll have to rustle your grub the best way you can. I may not get back until to-morrow--until this evening--it's morning now. But wait until I come. There will be plenty for you to do later on and there is no use of you going back to town with me. It might get you into worse trouble than you're headed for already, and what I've got to do, I can do alone." Wheeling his horse, he rode off toward Crawling Water.