“Cert, stranger,” was the reply, when Frank informed them of his course, “but then, for all that, ye came direct enough. The line bends in here, ye know, and ye’ve come along a north-westerly course.”
“So it seems!” agreed Frank, “but are not these the Los Pueblos Mountains?”
“Cert.” “Well, how is it that you do not run across Miguel Costello and his gang?”
“Well, we have heerd tell of that chap a good deal. He hain’t ever attacked us, though we’ve been lookin’ for a scrimmage with him off an’ on.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Frank, in amazement. “I think it very singular then, for I understand that he is the terror of this region.”
“An’ so he is, stranger. But we ain’t goin’ to be bluffed out of our claim for a stack of greasers as high as Shasta.”
“That’s good pluck.”
“In course, but now ye’ve axed questions, stranger, s’posin’ we take our turn. I’m Sam Sharp, or better known as Silver Sam. Who in thunder are you?”
Frank was not a little amused at being addressed in this bluff manner, but he quietly responded:
“I am Frank Reade, Jr., and I am from the East.”