Kales’ eyes swept the circle of cowboys, but read only interest in their faces.
“You—show—us,” said Red slowly, spacing his words widely. “I’m game.”
“—— right!” breathed Swede. “Shoot.”
“Did yuh ever hear of Sunbeam?” asked Kales.
“Yeah,” nodded Swede. “Minin’-town, about fifty miles from Wheeler.”
“Gold-minin’ town,” said Kales as if disputing Swede. “Lot of the yaller stuff shipped out of there, but nobody knows when.”
“There ain’t a —— mind-reader among us,” grinned Red.
“That part’s all fixed,” explained Kales, nodding toward Roper. “He read the letter.”
“I read a letter,” agreed Roper, looking up from the manufacture of a cigaret. “It didn’t fix nothin’ for me.”
“Lemme tell yuh about that letter,” urged Kales. “That feller who wrote it is Pat Wheat, and an old bunkie of mine. He works for the express company as a shotgun messenger. That’s how he knows things, I reckon.