Men shouted at each other and flung their money on the bar or across the green cloth, while the roulette-wheel whizzed and the dealer’s voices blended into the babel of voices. Harp had left Miss Miller to the tender mercies of some Silverton ladies and had invaded the Short Horn for a nerve elixir.
Grant, Hendricks, and Leach were at the bar when Harp came in, and Grant went directly to him.
“Where’s Brick?” he asked.
Harp shook his head and gave his orders to the busy bartender.
“I dunno, Bill.”
“When did yuh see him last, Harp?”
Harp rubbed his nose thoughtfully. Leach had moved in close enough to listen in on the conversation; so Harp did not answer. He took his drink and drew Grant away from the bar, leaving Leach with Hendricks.
“I dunno where he is,” declared Harp. “He didn’t come home last night. I never knowed that McKeever was killed until late today.”
“Got any idea where he is, Harp?”
“Not a danged idea. Him and Silent sneaked away from me yesterday, and I ain’t seen ’em since.”