“Railroaded up there,” offered One-Eye. “Passenger brakeman. I used t’ railroad on the G.N. I could have had an engine years ago if I’d stuck.”
“He told yuh he used to be a passenger brakeman?” asked Hashknife.
“Shore. Me and him—say, whatcha want to know for?”
“I just wondered. I used to know a Glover over in the eastern part of the State, and I wondered if this was the same feller.”
I dunno; mebby was. I know he worked out of Missoula f’r a long time; so he said. I’ve been there.”
“I heard he left the Half-Box R,” said Briggs.
Hashknife nodded. Down in the nearest corral were three horses, and Hashknife could almost swear that two of them were the horses ridden that morning by Langley and Angel McCoy. Briggs glanced down that way and shot a quick glance at Hashknife, who was calmly taking his tobacco and papers from his pocket.
“Well, I suppose we might as well be goin’, Sleepy,” said Hashknife. “No use waitin’ for Langley.”
“No use, gents,” agreed Briggs, visibly relieved. “He might be pretty late.”
“McCoy with him?”