"
There was a short silence. Willy Cameron studied the rug.
"I had to swear to keep it to ourselves," Pink said at last.
"Cusick won't let the Federal agents in on it. They've raided him
for liquor twice, and he's sick as a poisoned pup."
"How about the county detectives?"
"You know them. They'll go in and fight like hell when the time
comes, but they're likely to gum the game where there's any finesse
required. We'd better find out for ourselves first."
Willy Cameron smiled.
"What you mean is, that it's too good a thing to throw to the other
fellow. Well, I'm on, if you want me. But I'm no detective."
Pink had come armed for such surrender. He produced a road map of
the county and spread it on the desk.
"Here's the main road to Friendship," he said, "and here's the road
they use. But there's another way, back of the hills. Cusick said
it was a dirt lane, but dry. It's about forty miles by it to a point
a mile or so behind the farm. He says he doesn't think they use
that road. It's too far around."
"All right," said Willy Cameron. "We use that road, and get to the
farm, and what then? Surrender?"
"Not on your life.
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