“Out here ye kin use the back o’ yer hand fer a napkin,” growled Spangler, “an’ if ye’re afeared o’ gittin’ anythin’ on yer clothes, why, don’t wear clothes that’s so easy sp’iled. Do ye sabe my pidgin? If ye don’t, an’ if what I say don’t set well, ye kin take yer ole carpet bag an’ hike.”
Under this wheezy torrent of words the little man wilted. When Spangler turned around and waddled off, the stranger was ready to throw aside his knife and fork and eat with his fingers if any one had suggested it.
“My friend,” said the scout, smothering a laugh and leaning toward the stranger, “does your name happen to be Bingham?”
The little man jumped.
“It is,” said he; “Alonzo Bingham.”
“And you hail from Chicago.”
“I do, yes, sir.”
“You have come here to look over the Forty Thieves Mine with a view to buying it of Captain Lawless?”
“Why, my gracious!” cried Alonzo Bingham, “how did you ever find out about that?”
“Isn’t it a fact?” asked Buffalo Bill.