“Yeah. Looks like it. Well, let’s travel.”
Douglas, shrewdly watching, loosed a snap shot.
“Don’t you fellows know any better than to believe Sanders?”
The slight start, the involuntary flicker of the eyelids, told him that his shot had scored.
“Uh—whatcha mean? We ain’t seen Sanders,” blurted Bill.
“No? I notice that you know his name, though. How much did he shake you down for? You’d better get it back, quick.”
The pair scowled at each other. Bill, with a growl, started for the door. Ward halted him.
“Hold up, Bill. No hurry,” he said. “What about Sanders, Hampton?”
“Only this much: Folks around here think I’m a detective. Sanders thought so too. He offered to get me any man I wanted—for half the reward. If the man wasn’t here, he offered to sell me some fellow who hadn’t done anything but who could be railroaded—for the right price. He bragged that he could sell anybody, and that he’d done that kind of business before. Does that line of talk sound familiar?”
The scowls grew deeper.