"Sho!" said Bob, in placid surprise.
"Fact," assured Bill. "Him an' one of his pards is thar. They came inter town together a short time ago. Now, I could pick a quarrel with them, and I allows I could shoot 'em both; but it would be knowed agin' me that I had been tryin' to jump their claim, which sartin' would rouse feelin's. In your case, as you were nohow consarned in the raid on the mine, it would be different, an' I 'lows you might find a way o' doin' the job easy an' slick. You kin plead self-defense,[Pg 210] an' I promise you there will be plenty o' money to defend ye."
"It's the money fer the job I'm a-thinkin' of first, Bill," said Bob.
"A good clean thousan' dollars if you shoots the young gent with the mustache," whispered Bill.
"Do you mean it?" asked Bob, looking at him hard. "Where does it come from?"
"That I allow is none of your business. You has my word that you gets it. And I opine the word o' Cimarron Bill is knowed to be good."
"As his bond," said Gentle Bob, taking out a brace of pistols and looking them over. "I takes the job, Bill; and there sartin will be a funeral in these parts to-morrer."