"You have my name," said Apache Kid, "but I have n't the pleasure of yours."
"Why," said I, "I 've seen that man at the Laughlin House;" and at the same moment Apache Kid recognised the other in a sudden flickering up of one of the nighest stumps.
"Why, it's my old inquisitive friend—the hog," said he, looking on him. "Where did you learn that theatrical style of holding up a gun to a man? Won't you introduce your friend?"
"That's all right," said the other. "I want you to listen to me. Here's what we are offering you. You can either come right along with us to Camp Kettle and draw out a sketch plan of where the Lost Cabin Mine lies, or else——" he raised his Winchester.
Apache Kid whistled softly.
"How would it suit you," said he, after what seemed a pause for considering the situation into which we had fallen, "if I drew up the sketch after you plugged me with the Winchester?"
"O!" cried the man. "The loss of a fortune's on the one hand. The loss o' your life's on the other. We give you the choice."
"It seems to me," said Apache Kid, "that your hand is the weaker in this game; for on your side is the loss of a fortune or the taking of a life."
"I 'd call that the stronger hand, I guess," said the man.
"Well, all a matter of the point of view," murmured Apache Kid, with an appearance of great ease. "But presuming that I am aware of the location of that place, what assurance could I have that once you had the sketch in your hands you would n't slip my wind—in the language of the country?"