"McQuade, you're as fine a blackleg as ever graced a prison," said Warrington.
"I'll have to take your word for it," was the reply. "But how is it that I see you and Mr. Bennington together?" evilly.
"We'll come to that presently. I had always given you credit for being as astute as you were underhanded and treacherous."
"Thanks." McQuade took a cigar from his pocket and fumbled around in his vest for a match.
"But," Warrington added, "I am pained to reverse my opinion. You are a fool as well as a blackleg."
"How do you make that out?" coolly.
"Do you know where your man Bolles can be found?"
"Bolles? Ah, I begin to see. What do you want of him?"
"We want the esteemed honor of his company at this reunion," dryly.
Bolles? McQuade smiled. He was only too glad to accommodate them. If they wanted Bolles they should have him. Bolles would cut them in two. He reached for the telephone and began to call up the familiar haunts of his henchman. He located him at length in Martin's saloon. There was evidently some reluctance on the part of Bolles.