It makes the flesh creep."
There was a loud crackling among the underbrush several hundred yards
away. It drew closer and louder.
"Start up your works agin, will you, Bill?" called Silent. "Here comes
Shorty Rhinehart, an' he's overdue."
In a moment Shorty swung from his horse and joined the group. He
gained his nickname from his excessive length, being taller by an inch
or two than Jim Silent himself, but what he gained in height he lost
in width. Even his face was monstrously long, and marked with such sad
lines that the favourite name of "Shorty" was affectionately varied to
"Sour-face" or "Calamity." Silent went to him at once.
"You seen Hardy?" he asked.
"I sure did," said Rhinehart, "an' it's the last time I'll make that
trip to him, you can lay to that."
"Did he give you the dope?"
"No."
"What do you mean?"
"I jest want you to know that this here's my last trip to Elkhead--on
_any_ business."
"Why?"
"I passed three marshals on the street, an' I knew them all. They was
my friends, formerly. One of them was--"
"What did they do?"
"I waved my hand to them, glad an' familiar. They jest grunted. One of
them, he looked up an' down the street, an' seein' that no one was in
sight, he come up to me an' without shakin' hands he says: 'I'm some
surprised to see you in Elkhead, Shorty.
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