The outlaw chief had slipped into the room so silently that the
first inkling they had of his presence was that gentle, insulting
voice. Now, as he lounged easily before them, leg thrown over the
back of a chair and thumbs sagging from his trouser pockets, they
looked the picture of schoolboys caught by their master in a
conspiracy. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?
Full of suspicion and bad whisky as they were, his confident
contempt still cowed the very men who were planning his
destruction. A minute before they had been full of loud threats
and boastings; now they could only search each other's faces
sullenly for a cue.
"Celebrating Chaves' return from manana land, I reckon. That's
the proper ticket. I wonder if we couldn't afford to kill another
of Collins' fatted calves."
Mr. Hardman, not enjoying the derisive raillery, took a hand in
the game. "I expect the boys hadn't better touch the sheriff's
calves, now you and him are so thick."
"We're thick, are we?" Leroy's indolent eyes narrowed slightly as
they rested on him.
"Ain't you? It sure seemed that way to me when I looked out of
that mesquit wash just above Eldorado Springs and seen you and
him eating together like brothers and laughing to beat the band.
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