"Come right in, sir," said Nick, now holding the door wide open. "I got a few friends here; but they was jus' quittin' when you knocked."
Kiddie followed him within the darkness. The light in the room was then turned up, and he saw four evil-looking men busily pulling off their masks, putting away their pistols, and sweeping their playing cards, dice-box, and a "pool" of coins and greenbacks from the table.
"The four o' you kin quit, soon's you likes," said Nick Undrell. "His lordship an' me we've got a private pow-wow on hand, an' we don't want no listeners mussin' around."
The men emptied their glasses, stood up, hitched their belts, and went slowly past him and out at the door.
Kiddie knew them by sight. They had all been of Nick's gang in the defence of the mule wagons. One still had a patch of sticking-plaster across his cheek which Kiddie himself had put there over an arrow wound. When they were gone outside he turned to Nick.
"Any partic'lar reason why you and your convivial guests should hide your countenances behind masks?" he inquired in a casual tone, glancing about with curious calculation.
Nick Undrell did not answer this very pertinent question, and his visitor did not press him, but resumed, still casually—
"Can't say as this is quite a palatial residence for an industrious man that's called successful. You used ter make good money at one time, Nick, when you worked along with Buckskin Jack; had a consid'rable bankin' account, too. This all you've got ter show for it?"
"Yep. All I possess in the world, barrin' my pony, is contained in this yer shanty."
"What you done with that profitable ranch you had, back of Devil's Gate?"