"I'll be thar," and the ruffian continued on toward Bostwick's, still rubbing his aching forearm up and down the front of his greasy buckskin coat.
Murgatroyd, muttering to himself, faded away into the building known as Brown's block.
[CHAPTER VI.]
A NEW VENTURE.
"That old persimmon is about ripe enough to be picked," growled McGlory, as he and Matt climbed the stairs on their way back to their room. "He's one of those cold game gents that gets quick and deadly every time a fellow looks at him cross-eyed. The next time he and I come together there's going to be fireworks."
"The chances are," said Matt, "we've seen the last of him. We'll close up our business with Mrs. Traquair at three o'clock, and then we'll catch the first train for Totten. That will finish our dealings with Siwash Charley, and with Murgatroyd, too, I hope. There's a lot of work ahead of us during the next two weeks, and we'll——"
Matt and McGlory were just turning from the hall into their room. Some one had arrived in the room during their absence. As fate would have it, it was Ping.
The Chinaman sat in a rocking-chair near the window. He was nervous and uncomfortable, not so much because of his recent experience with the bear, perhaps, as because he feared the sort of reception he was to receive from Motor Matt.
"Well, if it ain't Little Bright-eyes himself!" grinned McGlory. "You're more kinds of a surprise party, Ping, than I know how to describe. What did you set off that cannon cracker under the bear for?"