"
"Where do you aim to look for 'em, if you don't mind telling?" Hank Miller was
staring doubtfully down at Luck.
"Where? Miguel here says they went toward Atrisco. That means they're hitting
for the Navajo reservation. There's three hundred miles of country straight
west, and not so much as a telegraph pole! Mighty few service stations for the
machine, too, when you think of it--and rough country to travel over. If they
try to go by automobile, we'll overhaul them, most likely, before they get
far. Also, we can trace 'em easy enough."
The sheriff pulled at his stubby mustache and looked the bunch over. "You know
that country?" he asked, still doubtfully. "Them Navvies are plumb snaky,
lemme tell yuh. Ain't like the Pueblos--you're taking a risk when yuh ride
into the Navvy country. They'll get yuh if they get a chancet; run off your
horses, head yuh away from water--they're plumb MEAN!"
"Well, now, I calc'late I know them Navvies putty tol'ble well," Applehead cut
in. "I've fit 'em comin' and goin'. Why, my shucks! Ef I notched my gun for
the Navvies I've got off an' on in the course uh my travels, she'd shore look
like a saw-blade, now I'm tellin' yuh!"
"Yes, an' yuh got a couple too many fer to go monkeyin' around on their groun'
agin," the sheriff informed him bluntly.
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