"All right, Jinny," a yawning voice answered. "What time's it gittin' to be?"
"Nearly four," Jinny replied.
"It's a rainin', ain't it?"
"Yes, it's a rainin',"—mockingly imitative of the gaping, stretching question. A laugh above rewarded her mimicry. "I brung the horses up—pile out and git something to eat, you two."
"Al-l-l right, Jinny," another voice drawled.
Jinny banged the door shut and went away. Simpson could hear the two men in the loft talking as they moved about, stamping and swearing over their damp boots, but they were too far away for him to get anything out of their conversation. That it was pleasant to them, and reminiscent of their recent foray, their frequent laughter indicated.
Simpson did some fast thinking while the two horsethieves were kicking around overhead. It seemed as if the big chance he had hoped for had come. If they were the only men around the place, if he could be sure of that, his business was to pick them off as they came down the ladder, cut the horses loose and light out. If he could be certain they were the only men around the place! It all hung on that. If they were not, starting things prematurely would be a disastrous blunder; if they were
He crept to the back of the stall, close against the partition, ready to knock them off as they came down from the loft. Let both of them get on the ladder, and then—if he could be certain there were no more men around! There was a jangling of tin pails outside as somebody went by with them on his arm bound for the spring at
