"But I tells you I don't
_know_. We has to find out," and he shuffled away toward the saloon.
Anybody but Bennington would have suspected something. There was the
delayed letter, the supernatural knowledge of Old Mizzou, the absence
of Fay. Even the Easterner might have been puzzled to account for the
crowded condition of the Straight Flush at ten in the morning, if his
attention had not been quite fully occupied in posing before himself as
the man of business.
When Mizzou and his companion entered the room, the hum of talk died,
and every one turned expectantly in the direction of the newcomers.
"Gents," said Old Mizzou, "this is Mr. de Laney, th' new sup'rintendent
of th' Holy Smoke. Mr. de Laney, gents!"
There was a nodding of heads.
Every one looked eagerly expectant. The man behind the bar turned back
his cuffs. De Laney, feeling himself the centre of observation, grew
nervous. He drew from his pocket Bishop's letter, and read out the five
names. "I'd like to see those men," he said.
The men designated came forward. After a moment's conversation, the six
adjourned to the hotel, where paper and ink could be procured.
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