Old Lafe Freeman, owner of the Nine-Bar-Nine, welcomed them effusively. The world had seemed all wrong since Brick had left the old ranch. He fairly giggled his delight, when Brick informed him that they were going to stay all night.
“This is about the only safe place for us,” grinned Brick, and proceeded to tell Lafe all about the dynamiting of the office, the knifing of Harp Harris, the death of Jimmy McKeever.
Old Lafe’s whiskers bristled angrily, and he clenched his gnarled hands.
“I knowed Jimmy,” he said slowly. “By God, I’d like to git my old six-g*n to workin’ on some of these dirty murderers. And they’ll git yuh, Brick—jist as sure as God made little apples. They won’t stop at nothin’. When they’ll use dynamite on yuh—aw, whatsa use? But, Brick, ain’t yuh got no knowledge of wh
