He said to Lawlor: “I think a man named
Nash works on this ranch. I expected to see him
at supper here.”
“Nash?” answered Lawlor. “Sure,
he used to be foreman here. Ain’t no more.
Nope—I couldn’t stand for his lip.
Didn’t mind him getting fresh till he tried
to ride me. Then I turned him loose. Where
did you meet him?”
“While I was riding in this direction.”
“Want to see him bad?”
The other moistened his lips.
“Rather! He killed my horse.”
A silence fell on these who were within hearing.
They would not have given equal attention to the story
of the killing of a man.
“How’d he get away with it?”
“The Saverack was between us. Before I
could get my gun out he was riding out of range.
I’ll meet him and have another talk some day.”
“Well, the range ain’t very small.”
“But my dear fellow, it’s not nearly as
big as my certainty of meeting this—cur.”
There is something in a low, slow voice more thrilling
than the thunder of actual rage. Those who heard
glanced to one another with thoughtful eyes.
They were thinking of Nash, and thinking of him with
sympathy.
Little Duffy, squat and thick-set, felt inspiration
descend on him. He turned to Bard on his left.
“That ain’t a full-size forty-five, is
it—that one you’re packin’?”
“Doesn’t it look it?” answered Bard.
“Nope. Holster seems pretty small to me.”
“It’s the usual gun, I’m sure,”
said Bard, and pulled the weapon from the leather.
Holding the butt loosely, his trigger finger hooked
clear around the far side of the guard, he showed
the gun.
“I was wrong,” nodded Duffy unabashed,
“that’s the regular kind. Let’s
have a look at it.”
And he stretched out his hand. No one would ever
have guessed how closely the table followed what now
happened, for each man began talking in a voice even
louder than before. It was as if they sought to
cover the stratagem of Duffy with their noise.
“There’s nothing unusual about the gun,”
said Bard, “but I’d be glad to let you
have it except that I’ve formed a habit of never
letting a six-shooter get away from me. It’s
a foolish habit, I know, but I can’t lose it.
If there’s any part you’d like to see,
just name it.”
“Thanks,” answered Duffy. “I
guess I’ve seen all I want of it.”
Calamity had failed; Duffy had failed. It began
to look as if force of downright numbers must settle
the affair.
SALLY BREAKS A MIRROR
As Sally had remarked the night before, one does not
pay much attention to a toilet when one rises at 5
a.m. At least that is the rule, but Sally, turning
out with a groan in the chill, dark room, shut off
the alarm, lighted her lamp, and set about the serious
task of dressing. A woman, after all, is much
like a diplomatic statesman; a hint along certain
lines is more to her than a sworn statement.
