“Mebbe he is, and then—mebbe again,” returned the sandy one.
“Well, we takes our orders from him.”
“Sartin; but I reckons he takes his orders from some one else.”
Bight pulled out a bottle.
“Now,” he said, “he furnished plenty o’ this. My neck is getting dry. How is yourn, Dug?”
“Ready to squeak,” returned Dug, grasping the bottle his comrade extended.
When they had lowered its contents until very little was left, Bight observed:
“I s’pose Bland he’s going to chaw up this yere chap, Hodge?”
“Sure thing,” nodded Dug. “Pretty soon he calls Hodge down yere on a pretense o’ business or something, and then he kicks up a fuss with him. He has it all fixed for several of the boys to plug him as soon as the fuss starts. That settles his hash.”
The eyes of Bart Hodge gleamed savagely.