The cowboy pushed his way into the tent and sat down beside Ballard on a pile of blankets.
“First off,” said he, “let me ask you if you’re satisfied Schuster gave me a straight tip when I met him on the way back from Gold Hill?”
“Why, yes,” Frank answered, “Schuster had a pretty good line on the situation, all except that ‘getting even’ part.”
Blunt screwed up his black eyes and gave Merriwell a keen sizing.
“What do you think about that bowlder that dropped from the cliff?” he asked.
“Accident,” said Frank briefly.
“Well, holy smoke!” grunted the cowboy, in disgust. “Is that what you really think, Chip?”
“It is, Barzy.”
Blunt removed his hat and ran his fingers through his long, jet-black hair.
“You’re a little shy in your headpiece,” he remarked. “Either that or else you’ve got a fool notion about not wanting to go on record with what you really think. Some of the lads outside kind of told me the way you were leaning, and how you’d been cracking Jode Lenning up as something of a man, in spite of his shortcomings. What Schuster said Lenning and Shoup had up their sleeves for you, Chip, worried me a heap. I got to thinking more of keeping the three of you apart than I had thought about recovering the money. Pretty soon after I left you and Bleeker in the hills, I tied up my horse and started to skirmishing in some difficult places on foot.