“Yeah?” Vane drawled his question and looked meaningly at Hashknife and Sleepy. “I’ll bet he will, too, Sam. Mebbe he’s gettin’ tired, waitin’ for us to find it out.”
Hashknife got Vane’s meaning. He knew that the others got it, too. They shifted uneasily. Hashknife grinned at Vane and shook his head sadly.
“Pardner, you’ve got a thin soul. Somebody hinted that me and my friend were employed by Eph King, and you accepted it as the truth. Yore brain can’t hold more than one idea at a time, so I’m not goin’ to make yuh feverish by provin’ anythin’.”
“Don’t bother with him, Hartley,” advised Jack, and then to his father, “Hartley is tellin’ the truth. I’d stake my life that he is not workin’ for Eph King.”
“You ought to know,” growled Vane.
“Yeah, I ought to know!” Jack whirled angrily on Vane. “I do know. Now, —— yuh, put that in yore pipe and smoke it!”
Marsh Hartwell stepped in between them, shoving Jack back.
“This is not the time to fight each other,” he said calmly. “I believe that Hartley is doin’ this for our good.”
“Let him prove it, and I’ll apologize to him,” said Vane sulkily.
“I don’t want an apology from you,” smiled Hashknife. “Keep ’em to use on yourself; you need ’em.”