"Say, Anse," broke in the voice of Kelly, "I'll bet this Yank is the one thet wus with Fox, an' got away. He'd hed time 'nough fer ter git this fer on fut."
"But what does he call hisself Raymond fer?"
"Damn if I know—maybe he jest heerd tell of the other feller, an' thought as how he'd git 'long easier under thet name."
"Well, I reckon it won't make much difference whut the cuss' name is if ever I git my hands on him," growled Anse savagely. "Go on, Nichols; how did yer git locked up?"
"I thought as how thar wus a chance ter break away, an' ther Yank an' me we fit like a couple o' wild cats. I reckon maybe I'd a licked ther cuss, if the gal hadn't a stole up behin' an' hit me with some crockery. The next thing I know'd they'd dragged me up stairs yere, shoved me inter that thar closet, an' locked ther door."
"What became of them?"
"Skipped out, I reckon. I never seen nuthing more ov 'em."
Anse must have completely lost his temper, for there was the sound of a blow, and the noise of a falling body, feet shuffling as the others drew back. Then a moment of silence.
"Pick the ol' fool up," said a voice. "Throw
