“I dunno. The hole in the muzzle of that rifle was perfectly round—if that’s any description. He knowed how to do it.”
“Didn’ yuh get any idea of what he looked like, Soapy? Was he a big man, small man, thin man, or what did he look like?”
“He sure was,” nodded Soapy seriously. “I’ll betcha that’ll cover him to a T. He was wearin’ clothes, too.”
“And he didn’t talk, eh?”
“, he didn’t need to, Brick. A man with a gun don’t have to tell me what to do. Now, I’ve got to go to the Red Hill and tell Barney to wait another day. Tomorrow is pay-day, too.”
“Twenty-seven thousand dollars,” muttered Brick. “That’s a lot of money, Soapy.”
“Uh-huh. There’s over two hundred men at that mine, and their wages runs about five dollars a day apiece. Figure it out for yourself. I’m the loser, Brick.”
“Soapy, yo’re the best loser I ever seen,” complimented Brick seriously.
“No, I ain’t. If I had any sense, I’d get so mad that I’d bite myself. Yessir, I’d just faunch around until I got me a temperature, bust a blood-vessel or a ham-string. But I’m just fool enough to set down and make fun of myself.”
“Well, why didn’t yuh tell me what yuh was carryin’?” asked Brick. “I’d ’a’ brought the sawed-off shotgun and we’d ’a’ stopped his play.”