"Well, so long, boys--take care of yourselves." "Well, now, I ain't so dang shore--" Applehead began querulously.
But Luck only grinned and waved his hand as he led the way to the south on the trail that obviously had skirted the side of the square butte.
The four who went with him looked back and waved non-committal adieu; and Big Medicine, once he was fairly away, shouted back to them to look out for Navvies, and then laughed with a mirthless uproar that deceived no one into thinking he was amused.

Pink and Weary raised their voices sufficiently to tell him where he could go, and settled themselves dejectedly in their saddles again.
"Well, I ain't so darned sure, either," Lite Avery tardily echoed Applehead's vague statement, in the dry way he had of speaking detached sentiments from the mental activities that went on behind his calm, mask-like face and his quiet eyes.

"Something feels snaky around here today." Applehead looked at him with a glimmer of relief in his eyes, but he did not reply to the foreboding directly.

"Boys, git yore rifles where you kin use 'em quick," he advised them grimly.

"I kin smell shootin' along this dang trail." Pink's dimples showed languidly for a moment, and he looked a question at Weary.