“Not to speak of. I’ve a sneaking idea, though”—and here the scout dropped his voice guardedly—“that Smith has put me next to a pay-streak.”
“Pay-streak? Whar?”
“Why, in an old, played-out mine five miles down the gulch—a mine called the Forty Thieves.”
“Forty Thieves! What fool ever tacked sich er label onter a mine?”
“Pass the ante, Nick. If what Smith says is true, though, a man by the name of Captain Lawless is mixed up with the Forty Thieves.”
Nomad stared.
“Meanin’ thet whelp of er squawman ther Cheyennes calls Fire-hand, Buffler?” he asked.
“The same.”
“Things are heatin’ up some, eh? Ye don’t reckon Wild Bill hes got tangled up any with Lawless, do ye?”
“I don’t know what to think—just yet.”