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Their money's burning holes in their pockets. I was just telling them that it's too early to start a game yet." He indicated the other two men, who were indeed disguised as lumberjacks, even to their hands; but their faces were not the faces of workingmen. "Cappers," thought Pete. Aloud he said: "Not to-day, I guess. Where's Rhiny? In town yet?" "No; he left.
Gentleman here to speak to you." At the summons, Something Dewing appeared at the side door; he gave a little start when he saw Pete at the bar. "Why, hello, Johnson! Well met! This is a surprise." "Same here," said Pete. "Didn't know you were in town." "Yes; I bought Rhiny out. Tired of Cobre. Want to take a hand at poker, Pete? Here's two lumberjacks down from up-country, and honing to play.
Let's go in." They marched in. The barroom was deserted; Tucson was hardly awakened from siesta as yet. From the open door of a side room came a murmur of voices. "Where's Rhiny?" demanded Pete of the bartender. "Rhiny don't own the place now. Sold out and gone." "Shucks!" said Pete. "That's too bad. Where'd he go?" "Don't know. You might ask the boss." He raised his voice: "Hey, Dewing!
For the same reason, when the sheriff escorted Stanley and Benavides to the courthouse for the formalities attendant to the bail-giving, Pete did not go along. Instead, he took Frank-Francis for a sight-seeing stroll about the town. Boland called attention to this surprising proclamation. "Yes," said Pete; "that's Rhiny Archer's place. Little old Irishman sharp as a steel trap. You'll like him.
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