“He’s gone down the coast on business,” said Ruger, “and may not be back for several months.”
“We’ll not wait for him,” was the miner’s reply.
At the same time he drew a revolver.
“You had better wait,” said Ruger, also producing a revolver.
The Ten Miler paused, and looked around at his companions. They did not present a formidable array of fighting stock. In fact, they were the sorest-looking men that Ten Mile Gulch ever saw; and as the unscathed surveyed them, he seemed to think he had better wait.
“YOU HAD BETTER WAIT,” SAID RUGER, ALSO PRODUCING A REVOLVER.
“You’ll wait for Mr. Borlan?” queried Ruger.
“I reckon we’d better,” answered the unscathed.
“And while you are waiting, you had better take a cursory glance at Mr. Watson,” suggested Ruger. “At the present time he is reposing in the shade of an acacia-bush, just back of the late lamented William Foster’s rural habitation. Good-morning, gentlemen; and don’t get impatient.”