He held out his hands and no bucket met it. With a
look of stupid surprise he stared at the man behind him. He continued to
hold out his hand.
"Wake up," cried the other, and gave him a whack across the shoulders.
"Wake up, Benito, man. The fire's out."
Robert Parker, whose hotel was a litter of smoking timbers, and Tom
Maguire, owner of what once had been the Eldorado gambling house, were
discussing their losses.
"Busted?" Parker asked.
"Cleaned!" Maguire answered.
"Goin' to rebuild?"
"Yep. And you?"
"Sartin. Sure. Soon as I can get the lumber and a loan."
"Put her there, pard."
Their hands met with a smack.
"That's the spirit of San Francisco," Ridley remarked. "Well we've
learned a lesson. Next time we'll be ready for this sort of thing.
Broderick's planning already for an engine company."
"I reckon," Adrian commented as he joined the group, "a vigilance
committee is what we need even more."
To this Benito made no answer. Into his mind flashed a memory of the
trio that had left Thieves' Hollow at daybreak.
CHAPTER XXVII
POLITICS AND A WARNING
Benito Windham rose reluctantly and stretched himself. It was very
comfortable in the living-room of the ranch house, where a fire crackled
in the huge stone grate built by his grandfather's Indian artisans.
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