“They ain’t white-livered, but they don’t like t’ git the double cross.”
“Who give ’em the double cross?” demanded Bassett, threateningly. “Do you mean me?”
“Well,” replied Hummel, avoiding his eye, “I ain’t namin’ no names. But somebody peached on them stock-yards fellers.”
“It wasn’t me. Why, just because I stood up fer ’em t’-night, I got fired out o’ the brotherhood by that smooth snake of a Simpson.”
“Got fired out, did you?” queried Hummel, his eyes lighting with an evil glint of satisfaction. “Then the jig’s up?”
“No, it ain’t up—not by a good deal. Rafe Bassett has got a lot o’ fight in him yet. But first I’m goin’ t’ git even. Is everything ready?”
“Yes—been ready fer three days.”
“Kin we two carry it?”
“I kin carry it myself. It ain’t heavy.”
“An’ you’re sure it’ll work?”