“What in the fiend’s name are you intending to do with Abraham Isaacs? How’ll he help me get revenge on Perry, and Dunbar, and Buffalo Bill?”
“Wait till Red Steve gets here with Isaacs.”
A cackling laugh came from Jerry. He had a way of laughing which was by sound alone, for not a muscle of his cadaverous face moved. It was more the laugh of a hyena than of a human being.
“What you’ve got up your sleeve is too many for me, Jerry,” growled Lige, “but if you can pull off the game as you say, I’ll give you five thousand in gold. D’you hear? Five thousand in yellow boys if you make trouble for Perry and Dunbar without making any for me.”
A greedy sparkle appeared and disappeared in the hunchback’s eyes.
“I’ll get that money, Lige,” said he, “and you can bank on it.”
Lige whirled and stared at him.
“You’re an artful little devil,” he grunted, “and I shouldn’t wonder if you made good.”
“I run to headwork, Lige,” piped Jerry, highly pleased with the left-handed compliment. “I’m a cripple, and can’t ever do anything worth while with my body—but it’s the mind that rules! It’s the brain that accomplishes things! If I can’t work myself I can make others work for me. If——”
A man, covered with the dust of the trail, appeared in the open outside door.