"Where is Long Simons? Is the fool still in St. Louis? Then he stays there, and we shall have to elect a new bully for this trip," remarked the slim man.
"Bah! That Long Simons don't rare on his hind-legs when I go by," growled a big hulk of a fellow.
"Ye never did go fo' to give him no battle, Porker," drawled a lazy southern voice, and a young man with deep marks of dissipation on his face raised himself from his blankets and threw back his long black hair.
"I'll give ye a battle, ye whelp!" roared Porker, rushing at the prostrate youth.
The other came to his feet like a cat, a knife flashing in his hand, his white teeth gleaming wolfishly.
"Hold, hold! I, Etienne Prevost, will shoot the man who makes the first move." And Lander knew he was gazing at a celebrated mountain man, one of the galaxy which had graduated under Ashley while a mere youth. "You shall all have a chance to show your mettle. We'll settle the question before we start. The red belt is in my pack; but no knife-play. Hunter, put up that knife."
