"And I'm glad to see you, Hank," responded Benson, just as warmly. "How have things been with you?"
"Putty slow, to tell the truth." Leeson looked at the boys. "Two tenderfoots along, I see."
"Yes. This is Joe Moore, brother to the captain up at the fort, and this is Darry Germain, his cousin. Boys, this is Hank Leeson, the best trapper and all-around shot in these parts."
"Oh, come, don't be a-praisin' me so much!" cried Leeson, as he took the boys hands in a grip that made them wince. "As fer shootin', ye kin do thet yerself as good as anybody, Sam." He looked the boys over. "Glad to know ye, lads. I know Captain Moore downright well, and he's a good soldier."
"I've got news, Hank," put in the old scout. "Joe fell in with Matt Gilroy's gang down near Buckwater Run."
"What!" roared the old trapper. "Do you mean to tell me thet measly crowd is around here ag'in?"
"Three of 'em are—Gilroy, Fetter, and a young fellow named Potts. I think Potts comes from Denver."
"I know him. His father was Ike Potts, the card-sharp. Thet blood is about as bad as any in the gang. What are they up to?"
