“Where did you pick up the darkey, Doctor?” inquired Swanson, designating Scip by a jerk of his thumb.

“The hard fact is, gentlemen, that we picked each other up.  I was 1907 and Scip was 1908.

“How’s that?”

“I repeat.  I was 1907 and Scip was 1908.”

“You mean to say you were doing—­”

“Simply that and nothing more, I found a halter in the road one day and picked it up, carrying it with me, and it wasn’t until a most officious individual in blue coat and brass buttons came along and rudely placed a pair of exquisite steel bracelets on my delicate wrists, that I learned that a horse was tied at the other end of the halter, and the gentleman who is supposed to dispense justice in Kansas City urged me to remove to Jefferson City for a time; that is all.  The number of my room was 1907 and my colored friend here had the apartment next to mine.”

“Yah, yah,” laughed Scip, “we bof did our time together, suah.”

This new claim on Swanson’s friendship had its effect, and the generous quantities of whisky which he had swallowed having put him into an extraordinary good humor, he threw his arms around the doctor and vowed he would keep him all his life.

Thus the two detectives by a bold piece of strategy, had gained entrance to the express robbers’ asylum and had been offered the right hand of fellowship.  The evening wore on, cards were produced, and the click of the ivory poker chips was heard above the low hum of conversation.  The doctor did not care to take a hand, and Scip, apparently tired out with his day’s journey, had thrown himself on a buffalo-robe in a corner, and seemed fast asleep.

The Doctor, his eyes half closed, and slowly puffing his pipe, closely and keenly eyed every face in the room; but most of all, he gazed at Swanson, who, partly overcome by liquor, was leaning back in an easy, cane-bottomed chair, looking into the fire.  A malignant frown, ever and anon, knit his low brow, and his cruel mouth curled so as to show his teeth, as his thoughts passed through his befuddled brain.

Cummings and Moriarity, who had withdrawn from the main party, had their heads together, earnestly engaged in conversation.  Cummings was evidently endeavoring to persuade his fainter hearted comrade to do something, for he often bent a significant look on Swanson, or pointed his thumb toward him, but Moriarity, whose eyes were half indicative of fear, would shake his head as if in expostulation.

The Doctor saw all this, through his half-closed eyes and strained his ears to catch even the slightest shred of their consultation, but the outlaws talked in such low tones that he was unable to hear anything.

A glance at Skip, who was gently snoring near them, put his mind at rest, for he saw that the darkey was taking in every word that dropped, feigning sleep all the time.  A sudden movement by some of the men, roused Swanson, and looking at a huge silver watch, he ordered them all to bed at once.  Which command was obeyed by all except Cummings, Moriarity, the Doctor and Scip.