"Yes. And I've seen him hobnob with Henry Wilton, and I've seen him
thick as thieves with Tom Terrill, and which he's thickest with the
devil himself couldn't tell. I call him Slippery Dicky."

"Why did he bring me here to-night?"

"I hearn there's orders come to change the place--the boy's place, you
know. You was to tell 'em where the new one was to be, I reckon, but
Tom Terrill spoiled things. He's lightning, is Tom Terrill. But I guess
he got it all out of Dicky, though where Dicky got it the Lord only
knows."

This was all that was to be had from Mother Borton. Either she knew no
more, or she was sharp enough to hide a knowledge that might be
dangerous, even fatal, to reveal. She was willing to serve me, and I
was forced to let it pass that she knew no more.

"Well, I'd better be going then," said I at last. "It's nearly four
o'clock, and everything seems to be quiet hereabouts. I'll find my way
to my room."

"You'll do no such thing," said Mother Borton. "They've not given up
the chase yet. Your men have gone home, I reckon, but I'll bet the
saloon that you'd have a surprise before you got to the corner."

"Not a pleasant prospect," said I grimly.

"No. You must stay here. The room next to this one is just the thing
for you. See?"