“What about the rest—Red, Swede, Boots?” asked Kales. “This job is big enough for all.”
“All square,” declared Roper. “All square, and all broke. Put it up to ’em, Kales.”
The three men drifted down to the bunkhouse, where the other three were playing seven-up, and Kales lost no time in feeling out the other cowboys.
“What are you fellers goin’ to do?” asked Kales. “She’s a long ways to the next range.”
“That’s the —— of it,” growled Red disgustedly. “I’m broke—flat.”
“You ain’t got nothin’ on me,” grunted Swede. “I don’t even own the saddle I’m ridin’.”
“What’s the answer to your question, Kales?” queried Boots Orson, who was a trifle more intelligent than the rest and felt that Kales’ question was not idle curiosity.
“A certain job,” stated Kales bluntly, “might mean a big stake or it might mean the penitentiary. Takes a lot of guts.”
“You’re talkin’,” reminded Orson softly.
“Am I?”