“I ain’t dealin’ yer no wrong trick,” said the other.
“That’s why I ony has one pard in a big job,” said Bloodhound Pete grimly. “’Cause in a way of speakin’ I ain’t fer bloodshed. I’d ruther drop one pardner than two or three. I don’t kill ’less thar’s need to, ’count o’ my own safety.”
Westy shuddered.
“Me ’n you ain’t goin’ ter have no scrap over the swag,” said the other man.
“N’ ye’ll find me fair as summer,” said the bloodhound. “Fair and square, not even sayin’ how I give the benefit to a pardner on uneven numbers.”
“Me ’n you ain’t a-goin’ ter have no quarrel,” said the other. “Yer wuz goner drop that there little gent, though, I’m thinkin’,” he added, “when he tried ter hold yer agin’ the car door. He wuz game, he wuz.”
“That’s why I didn’ drop ’im,” said the bloodhound. “Yer mean him with the cigar? Yere, he was game—him an’ the conductor. They was the ony ones. Them an’ the woman—she was game. Yer seed her, with the fire ax. I reckon she’d a used it if I didn’t take it from ’er. That thar little man had a permit or a license or sumthin’ to ketch animals down over ter the Park. Here ’tis in his ole knapsack an’ money enough ter buy a couple o’ ranches.”
“How much?” asked the other.
“I ain’t usin’ no light,” said the bloodhound, “’count er caution. We’ll sleep an’ divvy up fair an’ square in the mornin’.”
“Suits me,” said the other.