“You saw those ombrays throw the watches?” returned Hickok. “Waugh! I was jest airin’ my opinions erbout thet fool pufformance when ye blowed up an’ made me break off. I reckon I could hev worked up er fight with some o’ them fellers ef ye’d ’a’ let me alone fer a minute longer.” “Benner smashed his watch good and plenty, Nick. The works rolled out of the case, and a scrap of paper rolled out with the works.” “Whatever was a scrap o’ paper doin’ in er watch?” “This scrap had writing on it. More than likely Benner tucked it away under the watch lid for safe-keeping. I picked it up and was going to give it to him; then I glanced at the paper and changed my mind.” “Ye had a reason fer changin’ yore mind, I’ll bet a stack o’ blues!” exclaimed the old trapper, with growing interest. “What was et?” Wild Bill lifted his right hand, palm upward, and opened his fingers. The little square scrap lay in the palm. “It’s a corner torn off a playing card, Nick,” said the Laramie man. “Here’s what’s written on it.” The writing was in a fine hand and Hickok lifted it closer to his eyes as he read: “Dick Perry captured and held at my place. It’s a risky game, and I want you to come over in the morning and take him away.” Finishing the reading, Hickok minced the scrap fine and flung the pieces away. “H’m,” mused the trapper. “Thet sounds like underhand doin’s, all right, an’ yit, I dunno what bizness we got mixin’ in.” “You got to have a good excuse for every blamed thing?” asked the Laramie man, with gentle irony. “I don’t believe Pard Cody will get here from Texico before some time to-morrow. Do you want to sit around and cool your heels till he comes, or would you like a little excitement by way of passing the time?” “Snarlin’ catermounts, Hickok!” growled Nomad, “ye know I’m allers ripe an’ ready fer anythin’ with ginger in et, but we ain’t got much of er holt on the bizness thet consarns thet scrap o’ paper. Whose watch was et in?” “Benner’s--the ombray in the black clothes.” “Who sent et ter him? Thet’s the p’int.” “I don’t know who sent it to him, and that isn’t the point. This Dick Perry is the bank that gets our gilt. Why was he captured? Why was the capture risky business? Why is Benner to take Dick Perry away in the morning?” Nomad removed his hat and ran his fingers through his long hair. “Pass ther ante, Wild Bill,” he replied. “Thar’s a hull lot erbout thet scrap o’ paper I don’t know, an’ I reckon thar’s a hull lot you don’t.” “We can find out a little. Wait here a minute.” The Laramie man disappeared around the front of the hotel. When he came back, which was only two or three minutes later, he was towing the lanky Texan whom he had seen leaning against the post just before the cattle barons performed with their watches. “Whatever d’ye want with me, neighbor?” queried the Texan. “You’re acquainted pretty well in this section?” asked Wild Bill. “Tollable.” “What’s your label?”