The latter discovery filled him with a swiftly rising resentment, and, grabbing his hat and thrusting it on his head, he leaped to his feet. He had no intention of permitting amusement at his expense.
"I guess you sure had some good time," said a deep, musical voice at his elbow.
Gordon swung about and stood confronting the man, One Eye, whom he had seen in the train. For a moment he had it in mind to make some furiously resentful retort. But the man's appearance held his curiosity and diverted his purpose. The patch had been removed from his second eye, which now beamed upon him in company with its fellow.
"Guess these are yours," the man went on, thrusting a roll of bills out towards him. "That 'sharp' dropped his wad during the scrap. I hated to think a grafting train boss was goin' to collect it. You see, I guessed how that scrap would end."
"Are they mine?" Gordon was not quite sure he wasn't dreaming.
"Mostly."
The stranger's reply was full of dry humor. Suddenly Gordon's eyes lit.
"Where is that 'sharp'? I haven't done with——"
The stranger pointed after the train.
"You'll need to hustle some."