"Are you one of the Tolford heirs?" he asked.
No reply, save a threatening scowl.
"Are you the heir who has been making Mr. Cameron so much
trouble?" persisted the prisoner, glad to note that Big Bob
was fretting under his cross-examination.
"Do you expect to find the mine down there in the sand?"
continued Fremont. "That doesn't appear to me to be a
good place to look for gold."
"It is a good place to look for a reward for a fugitive from
justice," snapped the big fellow. "Now cut out the gab!"
"You think you can get me across the border without meeting
with opposition from my friends?" asked Fremont, not obeying
the latest command.
"Your friends!" ejaculated Big Bob. "Who are your friends?
A mess of school-boys who get lost in the hills! A gang of
high-brows who can't take care of themselves off Broadway!
Your friends!"
The idea of meeting with any effective opposition from Fremont's
boy friends was so amusing to the big fellow that he burst into
a hearty laugh.
"Your friends!" he repeated. "Ho! Ho! Baby dudes!"
"About this reward," Fremont went on, resolved to keep
Big Bob talking if he could, "about this blood money!
You will have to cut it up into several piles, won't you?"
glancing around the file of outlaws. "Or do you intend to
cut the throats of these fellows instead of cutting up the
reward? That would be something in your line, and quite profitable."
"I'll cut your throat," threatened Big Bob, "if you don't close
your yawp.
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