“An’ I’m ready t’ do mine,” declared Bassett, and drew the other bottle from his pocket and set it on the ground. “Is that enough fer to-night?”
“Yes, I guess so,” said Hummel, sullenly. “But I’m gittin’ tired of settin’ here in this hogpen, drinkin’ myself t’ death. I’ve got some little spark of decency left in me, though you mayn’t think it. Why don’t we do something?”
“We’ll do something to-night!” said Bassett, with sudden fury. “Where’s the gang?”
“They’ve weakened,” said Hummel, glancing sullenly at the other. “Since them fellers were crimped at Cincinnati fer that stock-yards business, they won’t do nothin’.”
“They won’t, hey?” cried Bassett. “Then they don’t git no pay. They’ve got all o’ my money they’re goin’ t’ git!”
“They know that!” sneered Hummel. “It wasn’t so awful much, anyway. They skipped out to-night.”
“Skipped out?”
“Yes—caught a freight back to Cinci.”
Bassett pondered this a moment, with knitted brows.
“All right,” he said, at last. “We don’t need ’em. But I didn’t think any friends o’ yourn would be so white-livered.”