"That's the way to say it!" asserted Panhandle, changing front and slapping Posmo on the shoulder. "We're broke, and who the hell cares?"
"Let's have a drink," suggested Shorty. "I got a couple of beans left."
They slouched out from the back room and stood at the bar. Panhandle immediately became engaged in noisy argument with one of the frequenters of the place. Senator Brown's name was mentioned by the other, but mentioned casually, with no reference whatever to stolen horses.
Panhandle laughed. "So old Steve is down here lookin' for his hosses, eh?"
"What horses?"
The question, spoken by no one knew whom, chilled the group to silence.
Panhandle saw that he had made a blunder. "Who wants to know?" he queried, gazing round the barroom.
"Why, it's in all the papers," declared the bartender conciliatingly. "The Box-S horses was run off a couple of weeks ago."
Panhandle turned his back on the group and called for a drink.
Shorty was tugging gently at his sleeve. "Posmo's beat it, Pan."