"Just a little sociable talk. You ain't in no hurry?" The grin broadened.
"I am." Hartwell reached for his whip.
"None of that!" The grin died away. The two men each laid a firm hand on the bridles.
"Will you tell me what this means?" There was not a quaver in Hartwell's voice, no trace of fear in his eyes.
"By-and-by. You just wait. You got a gun?"
"No; I haven't."
"I don't like to dispute a gentleman; but it's better to be safe. Just put up your hands."
Hartwell complied with the request. The man passed his hands rapidly over Hartwell's body, then turned away.
"All right," he said, then seated himself and began filling his pipe.
"How long am I expected to wait?" Hartwell's tone was sarcastic.