“I’m obliged to you,” said Johnny warmly. “The only doubt in my mind was when I was privileged to open.”
“I’d pot him through the window with a shotgun first chance I got,” stated the doctor; “that sort of a ruffian is just like a mad dog.”
“Of course you would, Doctor,” said Randall with just the faintest suspicion of sarcasm in his voice. “Well, I guess we’ll be toddling.”
282But I wanted some information, and I meant to have it.
“Who is this Scar-face Charley,” I asked.
“Got me,” replied Randall; “you fellows seemed to recognize him. Only he’s one of the gang, undoubtedly.”
“The gang?”
“Oh, the general run of hangers-on. Nobody knows how they live, but every one suspects. Some of them work, but not many. There are a heap of disappearances that no one knows anything about; and every once in a while a man is found drowned and floating; floating mind you!”
“What of that?” I asked; “drowned bodies usually float.”
“There’s no miner in these diggings but has gold enough in his belt to sink him. If a man floats, he’s been robbed, and you can tie to that reasoning. And the fellows are all well mounted, and given to mysterious disappearances.”