"
"How do they get down into it?"
"'Long a windin' trail on the west side. It used to be mighty rough, I
reckon, an' only good fer hikers, but they fixed it up so they can
drive cattle down, an' even a wagon if yer take it easy."
"Mendez fixed it?"
"No; I heerd that Bill Lacy sorter handled that job. The Mex can't do
nuthin' but steal."
"Then Lacy is the go-between? He sells the cattle?"
"Sure; I s'posed yer knew that. He ships them east from Bolton
Junction, an' pretends they come from his ranch over on Clear Water.
The Mexicans drive 'em in that way, an' they're all branded 'fore they
leave the valley. It's a cinch."
The marshal's eyes brightened; he was gaining the information he most
desired.
"And there is no other way to the bottom except along this trail?"
"That's 'bout all."
"Well, could Jim and I make it--say after dark?"
Moore laughed, the reckless boy in him again uppermost.
"Mebbe so; but I reckon ye'd be dead when yer got thar. Thar's allers
two Mexes on guard when Mendez is in the valley. He ain't takin' no
chances o' gettin' caught that way.
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