"Got one, I fancy, right in your crowd," Kingdon said, with rather a meaning inflection to his voice.
Horace stared at him. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about Ben Comas."
"I don't. It's your Indian chum, Joe Bootleg."
"Joe? Tut, tut! He's as tame as——"
"As a tarantula," finished Kingdon, laughing again.
"I'll have an eye on him," said Pence, rather sneeringly smiling once more. "But you don't expect a fellow like him to play any game fair?"
"Not so's you'd notice it," Kingdon cheerfully returned. "But you other fellows, now—take for instance yourself, Horrors."
The other straightened up on the rock where they were sitting in the sun, at a distance from the other fellows, and looked with hard eyes at Rex. "What do you mean?" he questioned. "I don't just get you."
"Consider your pitching," Kingdon said coolly. "It's crude."
"Crude?"