CHAPTER TWELVE.
THE MURDER ON THE BEACH At this moment the cook stuck his head in at the open door.
"Say, you fellows," he complained, "I got to be up at three o'clock.
Ain't you never going to turn in ?" "Shut up, Doctor!" "Somebody kill him!" "Here, sit down and listen to this yarn!" yelled a savage chorus.
There ensued a slight scuffle, a few objections.

Then silence, and the stranger took up his story.
I had a chum named Billy Simpson, and I rung him in for friendship.
Then there was a solemn, tall Texas young fellow, strong as a bull, straight and tough, brought up fighting Injins.

He never said much, but I knew he'd be right there when the gong struck.

For fourth man I picked out a German named Schwartz.

He and Simpson had just come back from the mines together.