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That Kennedy had already got hold of it Sinclair could not know, but it was certain that he would not leave the country without an effort to recover the booty from Rebstock. Whispering Smith turned the key in the door of his room as he revolved the situation in his mind. Within, the dark was cheerless, but he made no effort to light a lamp.
You know me, and, just as you say, we always get along because we both got sense." "You're hiding yours to-day, Rebstock." "No matter; I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you all the horseflesh you can kill and all the men you can hire to go after him, and I'll bury your dead myself. You think he can't shoot? I give you a tip on the square." Whispering Smith snorted.
"Now there you err, Rebstock it is 'a goin' to be' the last. So you think I'm after you, do you? Well, if I were, what are you going to do about it? Rebstock, do you think, if I wanted you, I would send a message for you to come out and meet me? Not on your life! When I want you I'll come to your shack and drag you out by the hair of the head. Sit down!" roared Whispering Smith.
"I certainly never expected to catch Rebstock and this fellow Seagrue as easily as that," smiled Scott, as the troopers took charge of his men. "If you hadn't caught them there you would have trailed them there. It would only have meant a longer chase." "A whole lot longer." "When you come to think of it, Bob, the railroad was their only hope, anyway. They did right in striking for it.
The three were standing in front of the bank when the sheriff rode into town. Sinclair and Seagrue got on their horses and started off. Rebstock went back to get another drink. When he came out of the saloon he gave the posse a gun-fight all by himself, and wounded two men and made his get-away." Whispering Smith shook his head, and his hand fell on the table with a tired laugh.
Your estimable nephew Barney is with him, and Karg is with him, and I want them; but, in especial and particular, I want Du Sang." Rebstock denied, protested, wheezed, and stormed, but Whispering Smith was immovable. He would not stir from the Cache upon any promises.
Silence fell upon the gloom of the dusk. Then came a calling between Smith and Wickwire, and a signalling of pistol-shots for their companions. Kennedy and Bob Scott dashed down toward the river-bed on their horses. Seagrue lay on his face. Young Rebstock sat with his hands around his knees on the sand.
"Come, Rebstock," he smiled, calling to the fugitive. "Your breakfast is getting cold." The man, turning as red as a beet, looked over the heads of those that sat between him and his tantalizing captor. But putting the best face he could on the dilemma and eying Scott nervously he walked over and, with evident reluctance, made ready to sit down beside him.
That round-up was all Rebstock's fault, and Rebstock is bound to make good all loss and damage." "You'll make good my share of it right now and here," said the man with the wash-blue eyes. "Why, of course," assented Whispering Smith, "if I must, I must. I suppose I may light a cigarette, boys, before you turn loose the fireworks?" "Light it quick!"
He played out the play to the end, but when he rode away in the dusk his face was careworn. John Rebstock had told him why Sinclair dodged: there were others whom Sinclair wanted to meet first; and Whispering Smith was again heading on a long, hard ride, and after a man on a better horse, back to the Crawling Stone and Medicine Bend.
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