“I sure did,” said Rhinehart, “an’ it’s the last time I’ll make that trip to him, you can lay to that.”

“Did he give you the dope?”

“No.”

“What do you mean?”

“I jest want you to know that this here’s my last trip to Elkhead—­on any business.”

“Why?”

“I passed three marshals on the street, an’ I knew them all.  They was my friends, formerly.  One of them was—­”

“What did they do?”

“I waved my hand to them, glad an’ familiar.  They jest grunted.  One of them, he looked up an’ down the street, an’ seein’ that no one was in sight, he come up to me an’ without shakin’ hands he says:  ’I’m some surprised to see you in Elkhead, Shorty.’  ‘Why,’ says I, ’the town’s all right, ain’t it?’ ‘It’s all right,’ he says, ’but you’d find it a pile more healthier out on the range.’”

“What in hell did he mean by that?” growled Silent.

“He simply meant that they’re beginnin’ to think a lot more about us than they used to.  We’ve been pullin’ too many jobs the last six months.”

“You’ve said all that before, Shorty.  I’m runnin’ this gang.  Tell me about Hardy.”

“I’m comin’ to that.  I went into the Wells Fargo office down by the railroad, an’ the clerk sent me back to find Hardy in the back room, where he generally is.  When he seen me he changed colour.  I’d jest popped my head through the door an’ sung out:  ’Hello, Hardy, how’s the boy?’ He jumped up from the desk an’ sung out so’s his clerk in the outside room could hear:  ‘How are you, lad?’ an’ he pulled me quick into the room an’ locked the door behind me.

“‘Now what in hell have you come to Elkhead for?’ says he.

“‘For a drink’ says I, never battin’ an eye.

“‘You’ve come a damn long ways,’ says he.

“‘Sure,’ says I, ‘that’s one reason I’m so dry.  Will you liquor, pal?’

“He looked like he needed a drink, all right.  He begun loosening his shirt collar.

“‘Thanks, but I ain’t drinkin’, says he.  ’Look here, Shorty, are you loco to come ridin’ into Elkhead this way?’

“‘I’m jest beginnin’ to think maybe I am,’ says I.

“‘Shorty,’ he says in a whisper, ‘they’re beginnin’ to get wise to the whole gang—­includin’ me.’

“‘Take a brace,’ says I.  ‘They ain’t got a thing on you, Hardy.’

“’That don’t keep ’em from thinkin’ a hell of a pile,’ says he, ‘an’ I tell you, Shorty, I’m jest about through with the whole works.  It ain’t worth it—­not if there was a million in it.  Everybody is gettin’ wise to Silent, an’ the rest of you.  Pretty soon hell’s goin’ to bust loose.’

“‘You’ve been sayin’ that for two years,’ says I.

“He stopped an’ looked at me sort of thoughtful an’ pityin’.  Then he steps up close to me an’ whispers in that voice:  ’D’you know who’s on Silent’s trail now?  Eh?’

“‘No, an’ I don’t give a damn,’ says I, free an’ careless.