“Want to play pokah, Torres?” asked the Chinaman.
“Not today,” said the Mexican with hardly an accent. “Little too early, anyway. Later, perhaps.”
They went on outside, and Faro and the Chinaman turned back to their drinks.
“What do yuh think of this place?” asked Sleepy.
“Kinda peculiar,” smiled Hashknife softly. “Them two at the bar are wonderin’ who we are, and that flashy-lookin’ Mexican woke his pardner up to take a look at us.
“I’ve got a hunch that a Sunday School wouldn’t do very much business in Pinnacle, Sleepy; but that ain’t none of our business. I reckon we’ll saddle up and hunt for them hot springs pretty soon. That stagedriver scared a lot of rheumatism out of me last night, but most of it’s comin’ back.”
The sheriff left the roulette game and came back to them.
“Do you know where the hot springs are?” asked Sleepy.
“Hot springs? You mean the ones out at the Hawkworth ranch?”
“That’s the ones.”