“Look a here, boys,” cried Jeems, “here is where a knife has gone clean through the corner of this tent.”
“Sure enough,” agreed Jim, examining the cut in the canvas.
“Here’s the weapon,” said Juarez, who was quick to follow up a trail of any kind. He brought the dagger to the firelight, and they looked at it with interest. It had a very keen blade, sharp-pointed and two edged. The handle was richly engraved and of silver.
“How is this, Jo?” inquired Jim. “Tell us the whole story even if it implicates your friend here, the human log.” There was a grim quality in Jim’s voice which made the Mexican roll his eyes viciously.
CHAPTER XXI
THE GREASER
“You are certainly a great chap for collecting knives,” said Jim admiringly to his brother Jo. “Somebody is always giving you one or throwing it at you. Remember that Indian friend of yours who crept up on you that night in Kansas and threw the bowie at you?”
“I’m not likely to forget that souvenir,” grinned Jo. “But this fellow certainly was going to give me the best surprise of all. Was it not so, Señor Manuello Greasero?” and Jo gave the fellow a contemptuous stir with his foot and the Mexican responded with an open-mouthed snarl for all the world like a wild cat when you poke a stick at him.