"Why, ain't none o' you heard about the fight what's bein' made to git holt o' a certain mine not so very[Pg 183] fur from yere?" he asked. "I mean the mine owned by a young chap what calls himself Frank Merriwell. You oughter know somethin' about that."
"Why, 'pears to me," observed the fellow with tobacco juice on his chin—"'pears to me I did hear that thar was trouble over a mine somewhar down in the Mogollons, an' that Cimarron Bill had been sent to take it."
"He was sent," said the full-bearded man.
"Then I 'lows he took it, fer Bill's sure to do any job he tackles."
"He ain't took it none. Frank Merriwell is still a-holdin' the mine, an' Bill has had his troubles, leavin' a good part o' his backers stiff arter the ruction."
"Say you so? Waal, this Merriwell sure must be a hot fighter. But Bill will down him in the end, an' you kin bet your last simoleon on that."
To which the man with the full beard said nothing.
"All this don't explain any to me jest why this lady an' her party is hyer," said the one with the thirsty mouth.
"It ain't noways likely she's lookin' arter Cimarron Bill none," said another.
"Whoever is a-takin' my name in vain?" demanded a voice that made them all start and turn toward the door.