"What's the row, Bill?" said half-a-dozen voices.
"Nothin'," said Bill, gruffly; "only the Sheriff of Calaveras ez kem down with us hez nabbed his man jest in his very tracks."
"When, Bill?"
"Right yer—on this very verandy—furst man he seed!"
"What for?" "Who?" "What hed he bin doin'?" "Who is it?" "What's up?" persisted the chorus.
"Killed a man up at One Horse Gulch, last night," said Bill, grasping the decanter which the attentive bar-keeper had, without previous request, placed before him.
"Who did he kill, Bill?"
"A little Mexican from 'Frisco by the name o' Ramirez."
"What's the man's name that killed him—the man that you took?"
The voice was Jack Hamlin's.