“Oh, he did, eh?” queried the scout. “Do you happen to know, Mr. Smith, where Wild Bill is now?”
“Why,” fluttered Smith, “isn’t he here?”
“No. He left here last night, right after supper, and hasn’t been back since.”
“Say, but that’s odd!”
“Spangler, here, says that you went with him.”
“I did go with him, as far as the slope leading down into the cañon. I have a friend living above here—a man I used to know in Chicago—and I called on him. He insisted that I should stay all night in his cabin, and I did so.”
“What is your friend’s name, Mr. Smith?”
“Seth Coomby.”
“Do you know such a man, Spangler?” asked the scout, turning to the hotel proprietor.
“Sure I know him,” answered Spangler. “He has a little, three-dollar-a-day placer up the gulch.”