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You can lay your last cent that Swope will get Big 'Un, if we don't get Swope." "Boston, give me that gun," I said. He took a look at my face, and smiled, satisfied. He drew the weapon from under his clothes, a long-barreled, heavy caliber service Colt's, and passed it to me. I thrust it out of sight, beneath my own waist-band. "Now, I'm boss," I said. "I'll give the word." His smile widened.
They were not white Indians, though they were taller and heavier than the Indians of the Yukon basin. Five of them carried the old-fashioned, long-barreled Hudson Bay Company musket, and in the hands of the sixth was a Winchester rifle which Smoke knew to be Shorty's. Nor did they waste time in making him a prisoner. Unarmed himself, Smoke could only submit.
Reed, after the custom of his kind, looked the sergeant up and down with a frank stare. "'Pears to be a good man," he said, "hefty in build an' quick in the eye. Glad to know you, Mr. Whitley. You an' me may take part in a shootin' bee together an' this old long-barreled firearm uv mine kin give a good account uv herself."
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