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Updated: June 6, 2025
"Mebbe you're right 'bout funerals an' nigger lynchin's," he whispered back, "but they's jest a matter o' livin' an' dyin'. Y'see, Minky's gamblin' sixty thousand dollars o' good red gold." Brand nodded. And somehow he appreciated the point and became easier. Later on Minky appeared in the store, and almost automatically every eye was turned expectantly upon him.
The only concession that everyone yielded, and then with bad enough grace in many instances, was to add to the boredom of their day of rest by performing a scanty ablution in the washing trough at the back of the store. Minky was one of the few who clung to the customs of his up-bringing.
With quick wit he seized his opportunity, bent on using Bill's influence to its utmost. He turned on Minky with a well calculated abruptness. "You'll help this thing out too?" he challenged him. And he got his answer on the instant "I sure will to any extent." Sandy and Toby looked at the storekeeper in some doubt. Bill was watching them with a curious intentness.
"An' fer that reason you're carryin' a gun," he said, pointing at the man's bulging pocket. Sandy Joyce ceased stacking his "chips"; Toby squared his broad shoulders and drained an already empty glass. Minky blinked his astonishment, while Wild Bill thrust his long legs out and aggressively pushed his hat back on his head.
"We ain't got nothing but this yer canteen, with ol' Minky doin' his best to pizen us. Still, we get along in a ways. Mebbe we could do wi' a dancin'-hall if we had females around. Then I'd say a bank would be an elegant addition to things. Y'see, we hev to ship our gold outside. Leastways, that's wot we used to do, I've heard.
Minky gasped. He had always believed he had long since fathomed the depths of his wild friend. He had always believed that the gambler had no moods which were not well known to him. He had seen him under almost every condition of stress. Yet here was a side to his character he had never even dreamed of, and he was flabbergasted.
Minky saw the ominous stain. "Wounded?" he inquired sharply. "Some." Then he added, after a moment's hesitation, "Yes, guess I'm done." The ranchman spoke rapidly. For the moment at least his weakness seemed to have passed, and the weariness to have gone out of his eyes and voice. He strained eagerly, his eyes alight and bloodshot.
You'll need to kep us wise to the general principles of vittlin' a family of three, when the woman's missin'. Then we'll need a treasurer." Sunny turned to Minky, and his twinkling eyes asked the question. "Sure," said Minky promptly, "I'll be treasurer. Seems to me I'll be safer that ways." "Good," cried Sunny, "that's all fixed." He turned to Bill.
Both were clad in store clothes of fair quality, wearing hats of the black prairie type, and only the extreme tanning of their somewhat genial faces belied the city theory. Minky noted all these things while he served them the drinks they called for, and, in the most approvedly casual manner, put the usual question to them.
So so, I'll cut out the wash-trough." "You most generally do," said Toby pleasantly. "You ain't comic 'cep' when you're feedin'," retorted Sunny, nettled. Then he turned to Minky, just as the doorway of the store was darkened by the advent of Sandy Joyce. But he glanced back in the newcomer's direction and nodded. Then he went on immediately with his talk.
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