Whispering Smith
Wickwire overtook Smith in Fort Street. “Talk quick, Wickwire,” he said; “I’m in a hurry. What do you want?”
“Partner, I’ve always played fair with you.”
“So far as I know, Wickwire, yes. Why?”
“I’ve got a favor to ask.”
“What is it—money?”
“No, partner, not money this time. You’ve always been more than liberal with me. But so far I’ve had to keep under cover; you asked me to. I want to ask the privilege now of coming out into the open. The jig is up so far as watching anybody goes.”
“Yes.”
“There’s nobody to watch any more—they’re all to chase, I reckon, now. The open is my kind of a fight, anyway. I want to ride out this manhunt with you.”
“How is your arm?”
“My arm is all right, and there ought to be a place for me in the chase now that Ed Banks is out of it. I want to cut loose up on the range, anyhow; if I’m a man I want to know it, and if I ain’t I want to know it. I want to ride with you after Seagrue and Sinclair and Barney Rebstock.”
Whispering Smith spoke coldly: “You mean, Wickwire, you want to get killed.”
350
