“Oh, they was warned, mister. But the boss he only laughed and said he’d been in blowin’ countries before now. I’ll say if he ain’t, he’s——”
“Heavens! How’ll we get out to ’em?”
“Take that road there. Don’t ferget to fill all yer water bags before ye start.”
“Anybody here in town who can go along and show us the road? They tell me sand blows over it and hides it sometimes. I can’t be bothered that way. I want to make speed.”
The native scratched his head, unthinkingly loosening his tightly crammed-down hat. He sprang into the air and caught it with both hands as it started for Nevada.
“They was a fella in from the camps last night said he’d like to get back,” he found voice to say. “But he got in a poker game this mornin’ and was holdin’ three kings when the stage got ready to go. Guess he’d go along and keep ye straight. That is, if they was anything in it. Ye see, t’other fella he held three aces.”
“Trot ’im out here! Here’s a dollar for your trouble.”
The villager disappeared with alacrity, and presently the occupants of the automobile were confronted by a slim man with black hair, a silk vest, and a black, waxed mustache.
“What’s your name?”
“They call me Blacky Silk.”