"Sartin. Know 'em all, an' some too well fer convenience."
"Do many miners live here?"
"'Bout fifty. But they're all out in the hills now prospectin'. They're comin' and goin' most of the time. Mark my word, thar'll be a big strike made about here one of these days. The gold's thar jist waitin' fer some lucky chap to find it."
"I suppose you know Siwash Bill and his gang," remarked Grey.
"Y' bet. Remember the fust time they struck this place, an' they've been raisin' Cain ever since, especially with the Injuns."
"How many are there in the gang?"
"Five, an' they stick together like tarred feathers."
"Are you sure there are five?"
"Sartin. Never more so."
"Well, I think you'll find there are only three now."