"D—n tough, if you asks me," Frisco growled.
"What happened to th' others?" Curtis asked, referring to three men with whom he and Frisco had punched and prospected several years before.
"Little Dan went out in that same gun fight, Joe Baird was got by th' posse next day, an' George Wild an' I got into th' mountains an' was separated. I got free after a sixty-mile chase, but I don't know how George made out. We had stuck up a gold caravan an' killed two men what was with it. They was th' only fellers to pull their guns against us."
"Well, I'm d——d!" ejaculated Curtis. "An' so that crowd went bad!"
"Say, for th' Lord's sake, get things moving," cried Hall, angrily. "If we've got to die make it quick—or else shoot that infernal Greaser—he's got on my nerves with his tramp, tramp, tramp! Wish I'd 'a gone with Shaw 'stead of waiting for my own funeral."
Buck surveyed them. "Got anything to say?"
"Not me—I've had mine," replied Frisco, toying with a bandage. Then he started to say something but changed his mind. "Oh, well, what's th' use! Go ahead."
"Don't drag it out," growled Hall. "Say, you got my rope there?" he demanded suddenly, eying the coils slung over Skinny's shoulder. "No, you ain't. I want my own, savvy?"
"Oh, we ain't got time to hunt for no ropes," rejoined Skinny. "One's as good as another, ain't it?"
"Yes, I reckon so—hustle it through," Hall replied, sullenly.