Gopher Gabe smiled.
“Well, he says he is gittin’ a lot of gold out of that wuthless dirt in what he calls his mine; and if he wants to drop it here with me, I ain’t goin’ to make a kick, am I?”
“And they say he’s gittin’ thicker’n fleas with some of the suspected men about town?”
“I reckon you’d better see him, about that.”
“I’m beginnin’ to watch him.”
Shepard came away from Gopher Gabe’s knowing considerably less than when he went. He reported to the scout his disbelief that the saloon keeper was not playing a straight game.
But the report did not change the scout’s opinions, or cause him to lessen his efforts.
He was rapidly accumulating proof that in Blossom Range Juniper Joe and Tim Benson were connected with a desperate band, who were not only disposed to protect those rascals, but willing to “put out of the way” their enemies.
Proofs of the desperate character of the men he was watching came fast.
As Buffalo Bill was sitting in the Eagle House dining room that evening, the time being just after dark, a shot sounded in the street, and the bullet shattered the glass beside his plate, throwing splinters into his face.