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Updated: June 1, 2025
Whitey Mack would probably be in no hurry he and Lannigan might wait until later, until Whitey Mack should be satisfied that Larry the Bat had gone home. It was the line of least resistance; they would not attempt to scour the city for him. They might even wait in that private room at Bristol Bob's until they decided that it was time to sally out.
Besides, of what use was it to talk to a blind fool who could say that one gray horse was as good as another. Hence Lannigan only looked sheepish and kept his tongue between his teeth until the door closed behind the inspector. Then he banged a ham-like fist into a broad palm and relieved his feelings in language both forceful and picturesque.
Two men were in the room: Lannigan of headquarters, rated the smartest plain-clothes man in the country and, across the table from Lannigan, Whitey Mack, as clever, finished and daring a crook as was to be found in the Bad Lands, whose particular "line" was diamonds, or, in the vernacular of his ilk, "white stones," that had earned him the sobriquet of "Whitey."
Bruce was not long in exchanging the clothes of civilization for the recognized uniform of the miner, and in flannel shirt and overalls he toiled side by side with Porcupine Jim, Lannigan and the other local celebrities on his pay-roll, who by heroic exertions were pushing the trestle foot by foot across Big Squaw creek. The position of General Manager as Bruce interpreted it was no sinecure.
Lannigan and Whitey Mack with their heads together! What was the game? There was nothing in common between the two men. Lannigan, it was well known, could not be "reached."
It was traces or backing-straps for all that was in you, and at the end a sharp turn which never could have been made had not the tiller-man done his part with the rear wheels. But when once the tires caught the car-tracks Silver knew what to expect. At the turn he and his team mates could feel Lannigan gathering in the reins as though for a full stop. Next came the whistle of the whip.
Each member of the crew having expressed his astonishment in appropriate words, Lannigan tried to sum it all up by saying: "Silver, you old sinner! So they've put you in a blanked ash-cart, have they? Well, I'll I'll be " But there speech failed him. His wits did not. There was a whispered council of war. Lannigan made a daring proposal, at which all grinned appreciatively.
Lannigan of headquarters, Whitey Mack of the underworld, sworn enemies those two in secret session! Bristol Bob might well play the part of outer guard. If a choice few of those outside in the dance hall could get a glimpse into that private room it would be "good-night" to Whitey Mack. Jimmie Dale's eyes were narrowed a little as he shuffled on down the passage.
Lannigan concealed his hands. The shadow of a grin flitted across John Burt's face, for he sometimes saw and heard more than was generally believed. "If you was aimin' to stay any length of time, ma'am," Yankee Sam fished innocently, "we kin git up a picnic and show you somethin' of the country when the snow goes off. About three days' ride from here I know a real nice view."
For Silver all other minor pleasures in life were as nothing to the fierce joy he knew when, with a dozen men clinging to the hand-rails, the captain pulling the bell-rope and Lannigan, far up above them all, swaying on the lines, the Gray Horse Truck swept up Broadway to a first call-box. It was like trotting to music, if you've ever done that.
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