Sunny approved.
“That sure don’t sound too bad,” he declared. “But wot about ’em gettin’ cold? Takin’ all that dirt off sudden, y’see––”
“He’s dosed ’em wi’ cough cure,” broke in Toby.
“Sure,” agreed Sunny. “I’d fergot––Say”––he turned to the doorway and craned towards it––“here’s––here’s Wild Bill coming along.”
Toby promptly scrambled up from the door-sill and made way for the Trust president. He strode into the room with a quick glance round and a short, harsh “Howdy?” for the lesser members of his corporation. His manner towards Scipio was no less unbending.
And, curiously enough, his coming silenced all further discussion. Scipio had nothing to say whatever, and the others felt that here was their leader from whom they must take their cue.
Nor was it long in coming. Scipio rose and offered his chair to the newcomer, but the gambler promptly kicked the proffered seat aside, and took up his position on the fuel-box. He glared into the little man’s face for a few seconds, and then opened his lips.
“Wal?” he drawled.
Scipio stirred uneasily.
“I’m real glad to see you, Bill,” he managed to mumble out. “I ain’t got no rye––”