Teagler made no reply. The other returned and stood over the older man.
“Talk up, why don’t you?” he demanded, shoving one gun close to the prospector’s face. “You know who I am, now, don’t you?”
“Things sort of indicate you’re that ‘Snapper’ Kirk,” replied Teagler.
“Well, I am,” rapped back the stranger. “What of it?”
“’Pears like that’s for you to say,” evenly retorted Teagler. “Now you’ve introduced yourself, my name’s Teagler—Joe Teagler.”
Inwardly, he was not so cool. That radio message meant more to him than the stranger realized. Teagler’s mind worked rapidly but evolved no way of circumventing the rascal before him. It would be nearly two hours before the mining company man would be due. Teagler had small hope that Kirk would remain that long. Moreover, the prospector did not like the calculating look in his captor’s eyes.
The fellow moved away from him now, one gun, Teagler’s, stuck in his pocket, the other ready in his right hand. He rummaged around among a collection of cans and miscellany in a corner of the shanty.
“You missed something in that drawer,” spoke Teagler. “I was going after some nuggets. Better take another look.”
“Want to trade, eh?” sneered Kirk.
Almost reluctantly, he drew his glance from the collection he had been exploring and went to the drawer. The revolver covered Teagler continuously. From the drawer, Kirk now drew a chamois bag. He emptied it, a dozen nuggets dropping out.