Riders and ranchers and villagers broke up
what must have been absorbing conversation. There was a rush of
many feet, and then the walk was lined with faces.
Venters's glance swept down the line of silent stone-faced men.
He recognized many riders and villagers, but none of those he had
hoped to meet. There was no expression in the faces turned toward
him. All of them knew him, most were inimical, but there were few
who were not burning with curiosity and wonder in regard to the
return of Jane Withersteen's racers. Yet all were silent. Here
were the familiar characteristics--masked feeling--strange
secretiveness--expressionless expression of mystery and hidden
power.
"Has anybody here seen Jerry Card?" queried Venters, in a loud
voice.
In reply there came not a word, not a nod or shake of head, not
so much as dropping eye or twitching lip--nothing but a quiet,
stony stare.
"Been under the knife? You've a fine knife-wielder here--one
Tull, I believe!...Maybe you've all had your tongues cut out?"
This passionate sarcasm of Venters brought no response, and the
stony calm was as oil on the fire within him.
"I see some of you pack guns, too!" he added, in biting scorn. In
the long, tense pause, strung keenly as a tight wire, he sat
motionless on Black Star. "All right," he went on. "Then let some
of you take this message to Tull. Tell him I've seen Jerry Card!
.
Pages:
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327