"Dick Arbuckle? I know him. He stole my horse. I captured him and Pawnee Brown came to his rescue and made me, Ross and Skimmy give him up," and Tucker gave the particulars in his own version of the affair.
"Then you bear the lad no love?"
"Love?" The cavalryman grated his teeth. "I was wishing I could get a shot at him."
"Then keep that wish in mind, Tucker, when the time for action arrives."
"If it's worth five hundred to you to have Pawnee Brown knocked over it ought to be worth more to have both of 'em laid low," suggested Tucker, who was naturally a grasping fellow.
"Five hundred in cold cash is a good deal in these times," was the slow answer. "But I'll tell you what I'll do. If, after a fight, you can bring me absolute proof that Pawnee Brown and Dick Arbuckle are dead I'll give you an even twelve hundred dollars, the five hundred I borrowed and seven hundred extra. There's my hand on it. What do you say?"
"Will you promise to give me the money as soon as you have the proofs?"
"I will," and Louis Vorlange raised his right hand as though to make good such a blasphemous promise.
"All right, then; I take you up," answered Tucker.
