"You think you can get me across the border without meeting with opposition from my friends?" asked Fremont, not obeying the latest command.
"Your friends!" ejaculated Big Bob. "Who are your friends? A mess of school-boys who get lost in the hills! A gang of high-brows who can't take care of themselves off Broadway! Your friends!"
The idea of meeting with any effective opposition from Fremont's boy friends was so amusing to the big fellow that he burst into a hearty laugh.
"Your friends!" he repeated. "Ho! Ho! Baby dudes!"
"About this reward," Fremont went on, resolved to keep Big Bob talking if he could, "about this blood money! You will have to cut it up into several piles, won't you?" glancing around the file of outlaws. "Or do you intend to cut the throats of these fellows instead of cutting up the reward? That would be something in your line, and quite profitable."
"I'll cut your throat," threatened Big Bob, "if you don't close your yawp. Speak when you are spoken to!"
"All right," replied Fremont. "I'm spoken to now. Did you steal the Tolford will out of the envelope that night? If you are the heir who has been trying to get it, you certainly got a chance then."
Big Bob started violently, walked rapidly for a few moments, and then dropped back to Fremont's side, just as the boy had figured on his doing. This talk of the Tolford estate seemed to be attractive to the fellow. Fremont saw that it was, but could find no reason why it should be unless, indeed, he had hit on the truth in one of his questions, and the fellow was really an heir.
"What do you know about that will?" Big Bob asked as he took step with his prisoner.
"Not a thing, except that it has been in good demand for a long time, and that it has made trouble for Mr. Cameron."