“Hashknife Hartley?” Jack frowned thoughtfully. “Say, did you ever know a feller by the name of Casey Steil?”
“Casey Steil? Hm-m-m. Casey Steil. That name is familiar.”
“I heard him tellin’ about a Hashknife Hartley one night. I think Casey is from the Sweetgrass country.”
“Lee Steil!” blurted Sleepy. “Kinda bench-legged, roan-haired, buck-toothed son-of-a-gun, with green eyes?”
“That fits him,” laughed Jack.
“And that ain’t all,” said Hashknife seriously. “Who does he work for?”
“He’s been with the Turkey Track for a year. Slim De Larimore owns the outfit.”
“Slim De Larimore? By grab, that’s a fancy name. What is he, a exiled duke?”
Jack laughed and shook his head.
“Slim is all right. Casey Steil is all right, too, as far as I know.”