“Well,” he said, “yuh know I’ll keep my word. Now, where is the stuff?”
“You’ll never know,” defiantly.
“Won’t I? Butch, you better tell me. I came to get it. You know me. I’ll cut yore ears off if yuh don’t talk.”
“No, yuh won’t, Kid. The only way you’ll ever get anythin’ out of it will be to throw in with me again. Laugh, if yuh want to. Why, you fool, everybody knows yuh came back. You traded horses with a man in Welcome, and you’re still ridin’ that horse. Know who owns that animal?”
“Aw, I don’t give a damn who owns it.”
“Don’tcha? Well, he’s the slickest range detective in the West. He’s been watchin’ yuh, Kid. I seen a telegram to the sheriff today. By God, they’ve spotted Paulsen! Don’t ask me how they got wise. They’ll get you, too. Me and you can pack up enough grub to carry us through, and we can cut out through the lava country. I’ve got the stuff, but you’ll never know where it is. Go ahead and kill me if yuh think it’ll save yore neck.”
“How could they spot Paulsen? You’re lyin’, damn yuh! There ain’t no way they can spot him. You’re tryin’ to get off cheap, Butch. I don’t trust yuh, I tell yuh. What about this detective? How do yuh know he’s been watchin’ me?”
“Told me he was. Oh, he knows yuh. Why, he saw yuh with his horse, you ignorant fool. He’s got you on the run right now.”
“I’m not on any run. Who is he? What does he look like?”
Hashknife listened to Butch’s description of him, and it was fairly accurate. When Butch finished, Kid Glover laughed chokingly.