"Say!" broke in Bill Hobbs, wrinkling up his face earnestly. "What's that you guys say about this here printin' office? There's machines and stuff in here—don't nobody want it?"
Piute waved his hand.
"There is no printer in our midst, pilgrim. All this flourishin' place needs is a real newspaper, but so far fate——"
"I'm it!" exclaimed Bill Hobbs gleefully. "I believe in signs, Doc—us guys was sure guided here! I'm goin' to take over this joint where I landed!"
Murray looked up at the ex-burglar. "You! Why, Willyum, I didn't know you were a printer or——"
"I ain't," said Willyum earnestly, "but I will be. Is it agreeable to you guys?"
Piute Tomkins bowed his lank figure. "Stranger, set right in the game! Them chips are yourn." He turned to Murray, caressing his mustache mournfully. "But, Doc, I'm right glad to welcome you to our midst, only we don't need no internal investigator in these parts, seein' that nobody ever dies here except by sudden accident——"
He paused, stared over Murray's shoulder, and his grizzled jaw gaped.
Down the street came a flivver, swaying and roaring—a dusty flivver containing no one except the girl at the wheel. She halted the car with a grind of brakes, and, seeming quite oblivious of the strangeness of the' scene before her, leaned put.
"Mr. Tomkins!" she cried, an anxious excitement in her face. "Does anybody here know anything about medicine? My—my father has been hurt and——"