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Updated: May 19, 2025
"Ther's sure bats roostin' in your belfry, Ike." The boy jumped round on the instant. His good-nature could stand the jibes of his comrades generally, but Beasley's sneers neither he nor any one else could endure. "Who's that yappin'?" the youngster cried, glowering into the speaker's face. "That the feller Buck called an outlaw passon?" he demanded. His right hand slipped to the butt of his gun.
As he approached, the dog ran eagerly out, gambolled meekly around his feet and caressed his boots. The man patted him kindly. "Hello, old boy! What were you yappin' around so for last night, huh? Grain-thieves? You needn't worry about them. There ain't nothin' left for them to steal. No, sir! If they got into that granary they'd have to take a lantern along to find a pint of wheat.
And into his eyes came a glitter of that cold contempt which Haydon had seen in them on the day he had faced Harlan near the bunkhouse at the Rancho Seco. "You're doin' the honors, Haydon," he said. "If you're that kind of a coyote I don't want to deal with you. If you think you want to pass up a share of that hundred thousand, start yappin' to them boys.
"Ther'll be sixty thousand dollars," the storekeeper mumbled doubtfully. "Good." "Good?" "Sure." Bill turned and gazed out of the window. "It needs to be a big pile. Makes things surer." "Surer? I don't get you." "No; that's so." The gambler turned back to the other abruptly. "Say, you get busy an' gas. Gas till you got the camp yappin' like coyotes.
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