to much talk, Turk Wilson drew out what few words he used drawlingly, "to make 'em go as far as possible," as Bill Rice had remarked about him.
"You di'n't say so to me," grunted Rice.
"Nope," responded Turk.
"If you had," resumed the man, who now had the roll open and was sorting out the medley of its contents, "I wouldn't of come. I'd of tol' Ed to get some other guy on the job."
Turk shut his monster pocket knife and put it away, replacing what he had left of the plug in a hip pocket.
"’Cause," resumed Bill Rice thoughtfully, "Bill Steele's as good a frien' as I ever had."
Turk scratched his head, nodded and seemed on the verge of drowsing.
"Bacon an' spuds," said Rice. "Onions an' cawffy. Sugar, I guess. Prunes. Say, I tol' you already, didn't I, about me an' Bill mixin' with them ginks down to Dos Hermanas?"
"Can't say as you have," returned the non-committal Turk.
"It was this way: You see I was carryin' a reglar pay day load an' when I'm that-away I don't like a man to talk the lingo like he's makin' fun o' me. So I get somethin' started with the Mex barkeep an' some frien's of his'n. In about a minute, before I good an' got started, we'd busted some chairs an' bottles an' furniture an' things, about a hundred dollars' worth, Mexican money. There was seven or eleven of them dark, han'some little gents pokin' knives at me when ol' Bill Steele walks in. Say, Turk, you oughta heard him war-
