“Oh, I––I’d like to pay him a ‘party call,’” he blurted out.
Minky was about to speak, but Wild Bill kept him silent with a sharp glance. An audible snigger came from beyond the window.
“Guess you know jest wher’ you’ll locate him?” inquired the gambler.
“No, but I’m going to find him, sure,” replied Scipio doggedly. Then he added, with his eyes averted, “Guess I shan’t let up till I do.”
There was a weak sparkle in the little man’s eyes.
“What’s your game?” rasped Bill curiously.
“Oh, just nothin’.”
The reply caused a brief embarrassed pause. Then the gambler broke it with characteristic force.
“An’ fer that reason you’re––carryin’ a gun,” he said, pointing at the man’s bulging pocket.
Sandy Joyce ceased stacking his “chips”; Toby squared his broad shoulders and drained an already empty glass. Minky blinked his astonishment, while Wild Bill thrust his long legs out and aggressively pushed his hat back on his head. It was at that moment that curiosity overcame Sunny Oak’s habitual indolence, and his face appeared over the window-sill.