“Sim hyar reckoned he wouldn’t git ter see ye afore he started fer Hackamore.”
“Got ter go back,” put in Sim. “I ain’t needed here, anyways, with all these men o’ Benner’s standing between Nate an’ trouble. I’ll borry a rifle an’ take it erlong in case I meet up with Red Thunderbolt. Say, I’d like ter put a bullet inter that critter. The’s a thousand out for Red Thunderbolt.”
“A thousand?” asked the scout, falling to with his knife and fork.
“Shore. The cattle barons, up an’ down the river, have offered a thousand in cash fer the man thet knocks over that murderin’ maverick. Now, if I could do the trick——”
“You can’t, Sim,” cut in Dunbar. “It’s been tried too many times. Red Thunderbolt bears a charmed life.”
“Don’t leave the ranch just yet, Pierce,” said the scout. “There’s something I want you to do.”
“Waal, if ye got any bizness on hand fer me, o’ course I’ll hang eround. Any more peace-makin’?” grinned Pierce.
“That’s what it’s to be.”
The scout’s face had become sphinxlike, and prying eyes learned nothing from a study of it.
“Buffler, ye’re holdin’ somethin’ back!” rumbled the trapper. “Consarn et, pard, kain’t ye see how I’m on tenterhooks? Why don’t ye le’go with what ye got on yer mind? What’s ther use o’ hangin’ fire?”