“What the —— is this all about?” demanded Steil angrily.
“Don’t let yore lily-white hands get nervous,” advised Hashknife. “Mebbe yore lips won’t let yuh admit that yuh recognize us, but down deep in yore hearts, there’s somethin’ that tells yuh to be careful where yuh put yore hands—Casey Steil.”
“Let ’em do as they please,” said Sleepy, grinning. “I’d just like to see old Wide-loop forget that he’s a shade too slow to take a chance. Casey acts like he had tonsilitis. He ought to try a cyanid gargle.”
Jack Hartwell grinned. He knew that these four men had met before, and that there was something in the meeting now that boded no good for Steil and Curt. In fact those two worthies were wishing that they were far from Totem City.
“You ain’t got nothin’ on us.” Thus Curt rather painfully.
“What made yuh say that?” grinned Hashknife.
“Yuh ain’t!” declared Steil vehemently.
“You sure of that?” asked Hashknife softly.
Steil squinted narrowly at Hashknife for a moment. Then—
“—— sure.”