The sturdy old prospector, his face white with rage under the tan, uncocked his rifle and dropped the butt heavily upon the earth, his eyes wandering from the face of the sheriff to that of Winston.
"What the hell is it yer want, then?" he asked sullenly. Hayes smiled, shifting easily so as to rest his weight on one leg.
"Got anybody in your bunch named Winston?" he questioned, "Ned Winston, mining engineer?"
The younger man started in surprise.
"That is my name," he replied, before Hicks could speak. The sheriff looked toward him curiously, noting the square jaw, the steady gray eyes; then he glanced aside at Farnham. The latter nodded carelessly.
"So far, so good. By the same luck, have you a Swede here called Nels Swanson?"
Hicks shook his head in uncertainty.
"There 's a Swede here, all right, who belongs ter the 'Independence' gang. I don 't know his name."
"It's Swanson," put in Farnham, cheerfully. "Those are the two birds you 're after, sheriff."
The latter official, as though fascinated by what he read there, never ventured to remove his watchfulness from the face of the engineer, yet he smiled grimly.