"I heard all about the murder in Staunton. The sheriff was trying to head the kid off if he came through that county. We were expectin' to see him landed in jail any day. They had bloodhounds after him, I hear." Dick Cronk's body quivered in a sharp spasm of dread.
"Say, Dick, listen here," said Braddock, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a half-whisper. "I've been wantin' you to turn up ever since he joined us. What will you say when I tell you he's got more 'n two thousand dollars with him?"
Dick started. "What!"
"He has. I've seen it. He's lousy with it."
"Well, he came by it honestly," said Dick after a moment.
"How do you know?" demanded the other insinuatingly.
"Honest men are so blamed scarce, Brad, that I can always tell one
when I see him."
Braddock rolled his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other and back again before venturing the next remark.
"It would be no trick at all to get it away from him."
Dick Cronk looked at his averted face. "What do you mean?"