“Take that till we get out of here,” he said. “Maybe he’s got friends.” But other friends were at hand. Half a dozen of Kerr’s men came shouldering their way toward him. “That was neat,” one grinned at Rock. “We couldn’t very well bust our way through that crowd, but if anybody wants to go farther with it, we’re here to take ’em on.” Evidently no one did. They walked, Kerr and Rock and five trail hands, the length of the room to the entrance door, while the hush that sudden death always brings held the crowd in the Odeon. Once in the street beside their mounts, Kerr said: “Well, I think I better amble off to camp before some other ambitious drunk picks on me. You fellers comin’ along?” “I expect we better,” they agreed. “That joint is no great shakes for amusement, nohow.” “Where’s your outfit camped?” Rock asked. “About nine miles north,” Kerr answered. “Where’s your camp, Rock?” “Same direction. Not quite so far,” Rock answered. “I’ll ride with you a ways.” They went jingling away from Clark’s Ford, Kerr’s riders laughing and joking. Rock and the little cowman silent. The Dipper wheeling on its ancient circle of the pole star gave them bearings. The night hush enfolded them, as the lights and sounds were swallowed in the dark hollow by the river. Three miles out Rock pulled up his horse. “Here’s where I turn aside,” he said. “So long, boys.” “Look, Rock,” Kerr said slowly. “You done me a good turn back there. If you’re ever in a jack pot, you let me know. I’m locatin’ in Montana for good this season. You’ll find me in the Judith Basin, on Arrow Creek. Capital K they call my outfit up there. Post office is Lewistown. My house is yours any time you show up.” “Maybe, I’ll call your bluff some time, Al,” Rock laughed. “You never can tell. I’m bound for Montana, myself, so I may see you-all again this summer. So long. Be good, and if you can’t be good be careful.” Rock sat his horse, listening to the patter of departing hoofs. So Kerr was bound for the Judith Basin. Rock had said that the outfit he was with was also bound for Montana. But he had omitted to mention that he would not be with it when it arrived. In fact, Rock was not wholly certain that he would ever arrive. He had another private horse beside Sangre with the Seventy Seven. His bed was in the wagon. He had two months’ wages due. Before he could get anywhere, he had to collect his belongings and his pay. And that might very well lead to a continuation of the unpleasantness this night had already spanned. The man whom he had killed in the Odeon was the brother of the trail boss of the Seventy Seven, and the Duffys were a clannish lot, with more nerve than good judgment.