There was a moment of silence, during which all turned to Creech. He was a
stalwart man, no longer young, with a lined face, deep-set, troubled eyes, and
white, thin beard.

"Bostil, if Cordts loves the King thet well, he's in fer heartbreak," said
Creech, with a ring in his voice.

Down crashed Bostil's heavy boots and fire flamed in his gaze. The other men
laughed, and Brackton interposed:

"Hold on, you boy riders!" he yelled. "We ain't a-goin' to have any arguments
like thet. . . . Now, Bostil, it's settled, then? You'll let Cordts come?"

"Glad to have him," replied Bostil.

"Good. An' now mebbe we'd better get down to the bizness of this here
meetin'."

They seated themselves around the table, upon which Bostil laid an old and
much-soiled ledger and a stub of a lead-pencil.

"First well set the time," he said, with animation, "an' then pitch into
details. . . . What's the date?"

No one answered, and presently they all looked blankly from one to the other.

"It's April, ain't it?" queried Holley.

That assurance was as close as they could get to the time of year.