"I told you," Thornton answered him, "that I am not looking for trouble. When I am I know where I can find it." He dropped his voice yet lower so that by no possibility could any one of the men upon the sidewalk hear him, and ended, "Jimmie Clayton sent me."
"An'," asked the Kid coolly, "who the hell is Jimmie Clayton?"
"He's a poor little devil who is in need of a friend, if he's got any,"
Thornton returned. "And he said you were the only friend he had here."
"Maybe I am an' maybe I ain't." The sharpness of suspicion was still high in Bedloe's eyes. "What about him?"
"You knew he was in the pen?"
"I ain't answerin' questions. Go ahead."
"He broke jail a few days ago. He killed his guard and got himself pretty badly shot up. I guess they're on his trail now. And he's going to swing for it if they ever get him."
"Where is he?" asked Bedloe sharply with no lessening of the suspicion and ready watchfulness.
"In the old dugout at the Poison Hole."
"How's it happen you know so much about it?"