“What’s the trouble?” asked Gentleman Jim.
“I’m by,” replied Hoppy Smith, halting in his wild rush down the street and resting his game leg. “Somebody dropped a remark, seemedlike, over around the Lucky Strike.”
“Dropped a remark?” echoed One-eye Perkins. “The feller’s mouth went off like a string of bombs!”
“All o’ that,” averred Stump Hathaway. “The noise jumped me out of a sound sleep.”
“I thort, fer a brace o’ shakes,” struck in Pete, “thet Injuns was up, an’ raidin’ ther camp. My skin began walkin’ all over me with cold feet.”
The party had paused for only a few moments. During most of the talking a rapid movement was being made in the direction of the Lucky Strike.
Spangler sat in the shade, in front, taking a comfortable catnap on his two chairs.
“Wake up, Spang!” cried Gentleman Jim, giving Spangler a shake that made him quiver like a bowl of jelly.
Spangler opened his eyes, wheezed, and made a convulsive gesture with his ragged palm-leaf fan.
“What’s ter pay, Jim?” he demanded.