“Great Cæsar! Langford,” said Murphy in an undertone, “there they are. We are in for it now beyond a doubt. Those fellows are after our collections.”
Our coming had evidently been anticipated, for the saloon-keeper stood in the door, and with the familiarity of an old acquaintance hallooed to Murphy: “Come in, come in; bring your friend and take a drink.”
“Thank you,” responded Murphy, “I don’t drink,” and deferred to me.
“I never take anything, either,” said I.
“Well, come in and get a cigar then,” he persisted.
Both replied in a breath that we did not smoke.
“That’s odd,” said he, “to meet two men in the mountains that neither drink nor smoke. Come in anyway, and surprise your bowels with a glass of cold water.”
This old joke had lost none of its relish for the four men within the saloon, who hailed it with a shout and hurried to the door. We recognized them as the same persons whom we had marked the previous evening, and were no longer in doubt concerning their purpose, for they had left Blackfoot in the direction of Bear Gulch, and by a roundabout way had come upon the Deer Lodge trail. Reining our horses with seeming unconcern, we rode slowly away, debating, meanwhile, what course to pursue.
“What do you think of the situation?” I inquired of Murphy.
“Desperate enough,” he replied. “We’re no match for those rascals. They can pick us off very easily, and no one will be the wiser. I feel inclined to go no further.”