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"What is it?" a frightened voice demanded. "Friends, Mr. West. Just a minute." It took them scarce longer than that to free him and to get him into the open. A Mexican woman came screaming out of an adjoining cabin. The young men caught each an arm of the capitalist and hurried him forward. "Hell'll be popping in a minute," Flatray explained.
A group of saddle-horses stood before the Headquarters saloon, and as the Texan entered he was vociferously greeted by the twenty cowboys who crowded the bar. "Come on, Tex, drink up!" "Hell'll be a-poppin' down to the wool-warehouse." "An', time we get there we won't be able to see Sam Moore fer dust."
Joe, excited and confused by the cool nerve of this man, fell readily into the verbal trap. "You better go now, an' not wait to ask Nick no fool questions like that. If he finds you here talkin' with me when he gets back, hell'll be a-poppin' fer sure. Me an' you are friends, Patches, an' that's why I'm a-tellin' you you better pull your freight while the goin's good."
When I find that token set in this cache I'll make up the river just as hard as hell'll let me." In spite of her confidence Keeko accepted the stick the boy passed to her and sat gazing at it. It was then that she discovered the lettering that had been cut on it. There were just two words in letters crudely formed: "LITTLE KEEKO."
If you think it your duty to strive with the heathen, well and good; but, do exercise some wit in the way you go about it. This man, Red Baptiste, is no Indian. He comes of our common stock, is as bull-necked as I ever dared be, and as wild a fanatic the one way as you are the other. When you two come together, hell'll be to pay, and I don't care to be mixed up in it. Understand?
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