But their precaution failed to serve their purpose entirely.  A little before noon two filthy, bearded knights of the road clambered laboriously over the fence and headed directly for the very tree under which Billy and Bridge lay sleeping.  In the minds of the two was the same thought that had induced Billy Byrne and the poetic Bridge to seek this same secluded spot.

There was in the stiff shuffle of the men something rather familiar.  We have seen them before—­just for a few minutes it is true; but under circumstances that impressed some of their characteristics upon us.  The very last we saw of them they were shuffling away in the darkness along a railroad track, after promising that eventually they would wreak dire vengeance upon Billy, who had just trounced them.

Now as they came unexpectedly upon the two sleepers they did not immediately recognize in them the objects of their recent hate.  They just stood looking stupidly down on them, wondering in what way they might turn their discovery to their own advantage.

Nothing in the raiment either of Billy or Bridge indicated that here was any particularly rich field for loot, and, too, the athletic figure of Byrne would rather have discouraged any attempt to roll him without first handing him the “k.o.”, as the two would have naively put it.

But as they gazed down upon the features of the sleepers the eyes of one of the tramps narrowed to two ugly slits while those of his companion went wide in incredulity and surprise.

“Do youse know dem guys?” asked the first, and without waiting for a reply he went on:  “Dem’s de guys dat beat us up back dere de udder side o’ K. C. Do youse get ’em?”

“Sure?” asked the other.

“Sure, I’d know dem in a t’ous’n’.  Le’s hand ’em a couple an’ beat it,” and he stooped to pick up a large stone that lay near at hand.

“Cut it!” whispered the second tramp.  “Youse don’t know dem guys at all.  Dey may be de guys dat beats us up; but dat big stiff dere is more dan dat.  He’s wanted in Chi, an’ dere’s half a t’ou on ’im.”

“Who put youse jerry to all dat?” inquired the first tramp, skeptically.

“I was in de still wit ’im—­he croaked some guy.  He’s a lifer.  On de way to de pen he pushes dis dick off’n de rattler an’ makes his get-away.  Dat peter-boy we meets at Quincy slips me an earful about him.  Here’s w’ere we draws down de five hundred if we’re cagey.”

“Whaddaya mean, cagey?”

“Why we leaves ’em alone an’ goes to de nex’ farm an’ calls up K. C. an’ tips off de dicks, see?”

“Youse don’t tink we’ll get any o’ dat five hun, do youse, wit de dicks in on it?”

The other scratched his head.

“No,” he said, rather dubiously, after a moment’s deep thought; “dey don’t nobody get nothin’ dat de dicks see first; but we’ll get even with dese blokes, annyway.”

“Maybe dey’ll pass us a couple bucks,” said the other hopefully.  “Dey’d orter do dat much.”