The Kid grimaced painfully at Hashknife.
“I guess I didn’t tie yuh very tight,” he said.
“Not tight enough, Glover. Butch ain’t hurt much, and as soon as he recovers I think he’ll tell where the plunder is cached.”
“What plunder?”
“The stuff you came back to get. You tried to play crooked with Reimer and DuMond, didn’t yuh? But they shifted the cache and left a dummy package for you to skip away with. Oh, I’ve got you cinched, Glover. By this time the Wells Fargo have arrested Paulsen. You was a brakeman on the same train that Paulsen worked on in Montana.
“You framed it with Paulsen, you and Butch and DuMond. It was a cinch. Paulsen opened the door and let Reimer in. You broke the train in two at Curlew Spur, Reimer pulled the job lone-handed, while DuMond handled the horses. Oh, we’ve got yuh where the hair is short.”
“Prove it,” snarled the Kid. “You can’t, damn yuh!”
Butch was beginning to make funny noises and trying to sit up. Hashknife nudged Sleepy and whispered:
“Take Glover into the kitchen, Sleepy. Watch the little snake. Slim will light a lamp for yuh.”
They went away with Glover, while Hashknife squatted on his heels, watching Butch fight his way back to consciousness. Butch had lost considerable blood, and the shock of the heavy bullet had dazed him badly. But he finally opened his eyes, and gradually a look of understanding overspread his face. His right hand, hanging limp at his side, twisted over against his empty holster.