“Yep. There’s jest one feller there ye can trust—Haywire Johnson, up to the hotel. Register that deed and send by him and tell him to shet up about it. Otherwise, that durned Hassayamp will poke his nose into it. Then tell Haywire to give you that there gun he’s keepin’ for me. I don’t aim to carry more’n one gun these days, not havin’ much use for it, and Haywire has been keepin’ my other one. I’ll mosey up this yere cañon and have breakfast ready for ye in the mornin’. Git out early.”
With another nod, Tompkins climbed into his car, started the engine, and started away. He knew well enough that Sagebrush would carefully avoid meeting Hassayamp and Miss Gilman.
What most stirred in his mind, however, as he headed for town, was that mention of his brother and Mesquite Harrison—and Mesquite was now in town. Taken in conjunction with Crowfoot’s recommendation, here was a chance not to be missed.
“I’ll sure interview Mr. Harrison and give him the time of his life before I’m done with him!” thought Tompkins, and he glanced at the sun. “Hm! I can get to town and clean up everything before supper. Then I’ll want to see Miss Gilman. She must be persuaded to get out of here at once. Hm! Queer how old Sagebrush showed up. To all appearance, he’s a comic-supplement character; put him on a city street and he’d gather a crowd—but how many of that crowd would last a week with him on the Mohave? These smart Alecs back East who think Europe is better than America and who part their hair the way the Prince of Wales does it, and who look on everyone west of Newark, N. J. with supreme contempt—wouldn’t I like to see ’em get out in the desert with old Sagebrush, though! They’d find out what sort of man it was who made this country what she is.”
It did not occur to him that in undertaking to play a lone hand against the Hourglass Cañon gang, he was likewise carrying out certain traditions of Americanism.
CHAPTER VII
The First State Bank of Stovepipe Springs had no banking hours, but was open whenever Sidewinder Crowfoot was there. It was nearly supper-time when Percival Henry J. Tompkins entered; and Sidewinder gazed at him in astonishment.
“Thought you were off bug-hunting!”
Tompkins shook his head sadly.
“I regret to say, sir, that the man whom I had engaged proved to be an unworthy rascal. I refer to Mr. Beam. In common parlance, he was drunk, insisted on taking me in the contrary direction to that which I desired, and even threatened me with a revolver. I abandoned him in the desert, but had I not encountered Miss Gilman and Mr. Foster, I might never have found my way back to town. Here is your receipt, sir, and I shall have to withdraw my money temporarily until I can recompense Mr. Foster for his assistance and make certain purchases. Tomorrow I hope to start off again with a new guide.”