“Sho! Is that so?” Asked Frenchy with mild incredulity, such a state of affairs being deplorable.
“She shore is!” answered Tex Le Blanc, and then, as an afterthought, he added, “Where'd yu hit th' War-whoops?”
“'Bout four hours back. This here's th' second time I've headed for this place—last time they chased me to Las Cruces.”
“That so?” Asked Bigfoot Baker, a giant. “Ain't they allus interferin', now? Anyhow, they're better'n coyotes.”
“They was purty well heeled,” suggested Tex, glancing at a bunch of repeating Winchesters of late model which lay stacked in a corner. “Charley here said he thought they was from th' way yore cayuse looked, didn't yu, Charley?” Charley nodded and filled his pipe.
“'Pears like a feller can't amble around much nowadays without havin' to fight,” grumbled Lefty Allen, who usually went out of his way hunting up trouble.
“We're goin' to th' Hills as soon as our cookie turns up,” volunteered Tenspot Davis, looking inquiringly at Frenchy. “Heard any more news?”
“Nope. Same old story—lots of gold. Shucks, I've bit on so many of them rumors that they don't feaze me no more. One man who don't know nothin' about prospectin' goes an' stumbles over a fortune an' those who know it from A to Izzard goes 'round pullin' in their belts.”
“We don't pull in no belts—we knows just where to look, don't we, Tenspot?” Remarked Tex, looking very wise.
“Ya-as we do,” answered Tenspot, “if yu hasn't dreamed about it, we do.”