“Did you locate ’em––the strangers?” he grated.
“That’s sure the pinch,” said Minky, wiping his broad forehead with a colored handkerchief. The heat in the dining-room was oppressive. “I’ve never see ’em before, an’ they didn’t seem like talkin’ a heap. They were all three hard-lookin’ citizens, an’––might ha’ been anything from bum cowpunchers to––”
“Sharps,” put in Bill, between noisy sips at his coffee.
“Yes.”
Minky watched a number of flies settle on a greasy patch on the bare table.
“Y’see,” he went on, after a thoughtful pause, “I don’t like strangers who don’t seem ready tongued––none of us do, since the stage-robbin’ set in.”
“You mean––” Bill set his cup down.
Minky nodded.
“We ain’t sent out a parcel of gold for months, an’ I’m kind o’ full up with dust about now. Y’see, the boys has got to cash their stuff, and I’m here to make trade, so––wal, I jest got to fill myself with gold-dust, an’ take my chances. I’m mighty full just now––an’ strangers worry me some.”
“You’re weakenin’,” said Bill sharply, but his eyes were serious, and suggested a deep train of swift thought. Presently he reached a piece of bread and spread molasses on it.