"I wuz over there last week—"
"And of course you blabbed your plans to your cronies. Oh, you make me sick."
"No, no, honest to God, I didn't. I never told a living soul except—except a fellow that helps around the post office. He was to meet us when we got there and tell us how the wind blew—"
"And he was to get—how much?"
"We 'lowed we'd give him ten per cent of the rake off."
"H'm," mused Jesse. "What is the fellow's name?"
"Jake Fowler."
"Well, what next?"
"There ain't no next. I've told you all there is."
"I'll tend to you in a minute. Where's that rancher?"