It was not the first one he entered, but, after dropping in at two or three other places, he entered Bronco Bill’s place just as the proprietor was telling a customer about a shooting scrap that had taken place there recently.
“They wanted to make the tenderfoot dance,” said Bill, grinning, “but durn me ef he didn’t make them dance and holler afore he got through with them. Such shootin’ I never did see! I thought ’twould be the last of Bronco Bill’s house, but the young stranger just brought them crazy galoots to their senses in no time. Say! he hit a dime——”
And Bill went on to tell the whole story.
“Patsy!” said Nick to himself, as he slowly put down a glass of beer at the other end of the bar. “I wonder how long it will take Dinsmore to follow his trail to this joint?”
Nick sat down to wait, and had supper meantime.
Shortly after nine o’clock, Dinsmore came in, looking sour and hopeless.
“Ah! there you are,” said he. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Why didn’t you come here, then?” asked Nick.
“Because I didn’t expect to find you here. I seemed to trace a man who looked like the governor to this hole several times. Plenty said they’d seen such a man hanging around, but the governor wouldn’t put up in such a place, not he!”
“It’s where he put up, just the same,” said Nick.