A little later Harp joined Brick at the saloon, where they stayed until about nine o’clock. “Want to set in on the game, Brick?” asked Grant. Brick yawned and shook his head. “No-o-o, not tonight, Bill. I’m goin’ to fold up a little of the sleep stuff.” “Same here,” grinned Grant. “I’m gettin’ old, I guess. Just a few more hands and I’ll be ridin’ toward the blanket.” Brick got up and started for the door, with Harp behind him. They went to the office, drew the curtains, lighted the lamp and sat down. “What’s the idea?” queried Harp. Brick did not reply, so Harp did not repeat the question. For probably fifteen minutes they sat there before Brick blew out the light. Then they went to the rear of the place, crawled out through a window, closing it carefully behind them, and went out to their horses. They led the horses quite a distance from the stable before mounting, and then Brick led the way straight back toward the Big Elk grades. There was no moon to light their journey, but Brick set the pace at a steady gallop until they reached the upgrade of Big Elk cañon. Harp asked no questions. He knew that Brick would explain things to him when he got good and ready, and not before. They turned off the grade at the little trail and wormed their way up through the brush to the top of the divide. There the rising moon silvered the timbered hills and lighted their path, making it much easier for Brick to lead the way to where he and Harp had been when the warning shot had been fired. Here they stopped and rested the horses. There was a dull glow, as from a fire, at Mostano’s place, but it was impossible for them to tell whether it was within the house or outside. Then they saw someone go from the house to the fire, carrying a lighted lantern. “We’ll take a li’l trip over and look at ’em,” decided Brick. “But we’ve got to be danged careful, Harp.” They rode down the hill, circled the ranch, and came in on the opposite side from the fire. At a tumble-down corral they left their horses and went on afoot. There was no light in the house, so they sneaked up to the side and circled toward the rear. At the corner they were able to get a look at the fire, which seemed to be burning inside the corral. There was an odor of burning hair, mixed with wood-smoke, and Brick chuckled to himself, as he instructed Harp: “They’re butcherin’ inside the corral and burnin’ the hides. We’ve got ’em dead, Harp; but look out. Keep down low.” Brick led the way toward the corral, both of them almost crawling the last fifty feet. They gained the side of the corral unseen, and it was then that Brick realized that he had miscalculated on the gate. It would be suicide to try to climb the fence, and possibly disastrous to try to arrest them from that distance. And it would be almost impossible to go as far as the gate without being detected.