“Yeah, I remember the shootin’. Is this Jack Evans?”
“If it ain’t, it’s his ghost. I don’t forget faces. Yuh see, I’ve played poker with him. He’s got a scar on the back of his left hand; sort of a white half-moon, where a Mexican pinned his hand to a poker table in Laredo. Wore a big cameo ring on the same hand. The ring may be gone, but the scar will show.”
“Do yuh reckon he’s still wanted in Redfields?”
“That’s not our business. Let Redfields capture their own criminals. What interests me is the fact that he’s here in a small town with one arm in a sling. Harry Cole and the bunch seem to know him very well; so this may be where he hangs out when the police need him pretty bad.”
“Do yuh think he’ll recognise you, Hashknife?”
“Not a chance in a thousand. We never locked horns in any way, and he prob’ly dealt cards to a lot of suckers since he dealt to me.”
They mentioned Pollock to Breezy.
“Jack Pollock? Shore I know him. He used to work for Harry Cole. Oh, he was here a long time. Yuh say he’s back? He’s all right, jist a little slick, thasall. Mebbe Harry sent for him.”
“I don’t know him,” said Hashknife. “Heard them call him Pollock. He’s got his left arm in a sling.”
“Yeah? Well, he prob’ly got clumsy on the deal. Some folks demand an honest deal, it seems. Oh, I don’t say he’s a crooked dealer, Hashknife. Lotsa other ways for him to git hurt. Might have fallen out of a balloon, f’r instance. I’d be the last one to ever say anythin’ against him.”