“Maybe!”
“You know Ive Hacker, Binn Mingo, Cole Wass—all friends of mine!”
“What about it?”
“Pals, I say! All work together. Pull off our plays together.”
“Go ahead!”
“Go ahead!” he repeated, grinding his teeth. “We’ll go ahead and make a pot roast of you in that plug-hat! Do you think I’m a lone-hander, without friends? Haven’t you ever heard of Steer Bingham?”
My heart jumped. That was the of the names Jeff Dawlin had written down for me.
“And I suppose you’re holding out Ike Dawlin for a—” I started, giving him a sharp look.
He smacked his hand on his knee. “Yes, Ike Dawlin. That’s the kind of friends I’ve got who will—”
“A fine bunch to be afraid of if they all are as handy by as Ike Dawlin!”