"Where do you think they're headed for?"

"Probably the wildest country they can find, if they want to get rid
of young Hoff," said the other, who had been apprised of the main
points of the situation. "That would likely be the Pinto range, to
the southwest of the Laguna. Richford knows that country a little.
He was in there two years ago."

"They would probably want to get rid of him without obvious murder;"
said Average Jones. "You see, his money is in certified checks
which they'd have to get cashed. If some one should find his body
with a bullet-hole in it, they'd have some explaining to do."

"Nobody'd be likely to find it. Only about two parties a year get'
down there. Still, somebody might trail him. And I guess old
Richford is too foxy to do any killing when he turns the trick just
as well without it."

"Suppose it's the Pintos, then. How do we get there?"

"Hard-ash breeze," returned the other succinctly. "Our rowboat is
outfitted and waiting."

"Good work!" said Jones heartily. "How far is it?"

"Sixty miles to the turn of the Laguna. There's a four-mile current
to help. They've a scant two days' start, and we'll catch up some,
for their boat is heavier and their sail is no good with the wind in
this direction. If we don't catch up some," he added grimly, "I
wouldn't want to insure our young friend's life. So it's all