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Can you tell me which-a-way is Bob Reynolds' ranch?" he asked. Both men broke into grins. "Well, you've putt' nigh hit it right hyer. This is one o' his 'line camps. The ranch house is about ten miles furder on but slide off and eat a few." One man took his horse while the other showed him into a big room where a huge stack of coals on a rude hearth gave out a cheerful heat.
But it remained for this man to find a third use for such a thing. He brought it into the office of Gafford's wagon yard, where some other men were sitting about the fire, and he held it up before them and he said: "Who does this here hornet's nest put you fellers in mind of this gray color all over it, and all these here fine lines runnin' back and forth and every which-a-way like wrinkles?
But it remained for this man to find a third use for such a thing. He brought it into the office of Gafford's wagon yard, where some other men were sitting about the fire, and he held it up before them and he said: "Who does this here hornet's nest put you fellers in mind of this gray color all over it, and all these here fine lines runnin' back and forth and every which-a-way like wrinkles?
"Ez for making tracks immejitly, if not sooner, I allow there ain't no two notions about that. But I'm dad-daddled if I know which-a-way to put out, Cap'n John, and that's the gospil fact." "Why not strike for the Great Trace, and so go back the way the powder convoy came?" I asked. It could be done, he said, but the hazard was great.
"You can't tell nothin' about which-a-way a vein runs in this here hell's half-acre. Bart Blackwell's the whole show on the Lawrenceburg, and he's a hawg.
Ma Lawd, I'se been clar distracted fer de las' ten minutes fer ter know which-a-way ter tu'n! I aint really believe Miss Bev'ly is in no danger 'twell Miss Petty done got me so sympathizin', but now I'se shore rattled an' I'se gwin' ter find out fer sartin. Come on yo' Jumbo!
Never a vessel comes hereabouts, and 'tis the Lord's mercy you han't run her ashore." "The Lord will provide," answered the skipper piously, "Which-a-way lies Cardiff, say you?" The old man pointed. But while he pointed Tilda ran forward. "'Olmness? Is it 'Olmness?" He stared up. "Holmness it is, missie? But why?" "An' you'll take us off? We're 'ere with a message.
He rolled his extra clothes in his blanket and tied it behind his saddle, and then, with one hand on his pommel, he said to the hostler, moved by a bitter recklessness of mind: "Well, that squares us, stranger. If anybody asks you which-a-way 'Black Mose' rode jist say ye didn't notice." A leap, a rush of hoofs, and the darkness had eaten both horse and man.
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