"They do that, sometimes," the red-nosed man agreed. "Times are tough now. The woods are full of Winslow's men."
"Oh? Something up?"
"Seems someone tried to kill the old bird," the red-faced man said. "Guess he got fed up after all these years."
"I suspect it was that Duke from South America," the lean one remarked. "Them Dukes are out for each other, mark my words!"
The fire flickered and sent a spiral of smoke curling into the trees. Staring at it, Kesley found the sight oddly soothing. He took another sip of the stew.
Chuckling, he said, "They must be chasing this guy all over the country. I'll bet there's a nifty price on his head."
"Seventy-five thousand, that's what it is!"
Kesley frowned. Had the reward increased so fast—or was this just the exaggeration of ignorance? It didn't much matter.
"I'd like to catch some of that money myself, you know. Seventy-five thousand, huh?"
The red-nosed man laughed raucously. "You know, if I was the guy, maybe I'd turn myself in, for that kind of dough!"