“Don’t know who he is, do you?”
“No, but I know his name. It’s Neighbors. Just as we were leaving the hotel, one of the bar-room crowd named him; pointed him out to his fellow gossips as a man who probably knew who had made the new gold strike, and where it is located.”
“Well,” Bromley began, “if there is only one of him——”
“If there is one, there will be more,” Philip predicted. Then, at a sudden prompting of the primitive underman: “I wish to goodness we had something more deadly than that old navy revolver we’ve been lugging around all summer.”
Bromley’s smile was cherubic.
“As it happens, we are perfectly well prepared to back our judgment—at Mr. Drew’s suggestion. Our arsenal now sports a couple of late model Winchesters, with the ammunition and saddle holsters therefor. I bought ’em and sneaked ’em down to the stable this afternoon.”
Philip looked up with narrowed eyes. “Would you fight for this chance of ours if we’re pushed to it, Harry?”
Bromley laughed.
“I’ll shoot any man’s sheep that’ll try to bite me. Have you ever doubted it?”
“I didn’t know.”