“Both gone?” echoed two or three men.
“Yes,” said the colonel; “and the queerest thing is, they left ev’rything behind—every darned thing! I never did see such a stampede afore—I didn’t! Nobody’s got any idee of whar they be, nor what it’s ’bout neither.”
“Don’t be too sartain, colonel!” piped Weasel, a self-contained mite of a fellow, who was still at work upon his glass, filled at the last general treat, although every one else had finished so long ago that they were growing thirsty again—“don’t be too sartain. Them detectives bunked at my shanty last night.”
“The deuce they did!” cried the colonel. “Good the rest of us didn’t know it.”
“Well,” said Weasel, moving his glass in graceful circles, to be sure that all the sugar dissolved, “I dunno. It’s a respectable business, an’ I wanted to have a good look at ’em.”
“What’s that got to do with Jim and Tarpaulin?” look at demanded the colonel, fiercely.
“Wait, and I’ll tell you,” replied Weasel, provokingly, taking a leisurely sip at his glass. “Jim come down to see ’em——”
“What?” cried the colonel.
“An’ told ’em he knew their man, an’ would help find him,” continued Weasel. “They offered him the thousand dollars——”
“Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!” groaned the colonel; “who’s a feller to trust in this world! The idee of Jim goin’ back on a pardner fur a thousand! I wouldn’t hev b’lieved he’d a-done it fur a million!”