His companion read in Gurley's sallow face the dismay that had attacked him. Overstreet turned and faced the newcomer. The outlaw was a short, heavy-set man with remarkably long arms. He had come from Trinidad, Colorado, and brought with him the reputation of a killer. His eyes looked hard at the red-haired youngster, but he made no comment.
Jack spoke to the bartender. He looked at neither of the bad-men, but he was very coolly and alertly on guard.
"Joe, I left my blacksnake at home," he said. "Have you got one handy?"
"Some guys are lucky, Steve," jeered Overstreet, taking his cue from the Ranger. "Because you fell over a box and this fellow beat you up while you was down, he thinks he's a regular go-getter. He looks to me like a counterfeit four-bit piece, if anybody asks you."
Jumbo Wilkins puffed into the place and accepted the Ranger's invitation to take a drink.
"What makes you so gaunted, Jack? You look right peaked," he commented as they waited for their drinks.
"Scared stiff, Jumbo. I hear two wild an' woolly bad-men are after me. One is a tall, lopsided, cock-eyed rooster, an' the other is a hammered-down sawed-off runt. They sure have got me good an' scared. I've been runnin' ever since I heard they were in town."
Gurley gulped down his drink and turned toward the door hastily. "Come, let's go, Overstreet. I got to see a man."
The Texan and the Coloradoan looked at each other with steel-cold eyes. They measured each other in deadly silence, and while one might have counted twenty the shadow of death hovered over the room. Then Overstreet made his choice. The bragging had all been done by Gurley. He could save his face without putting up a fight.
"Funny how some folks are all blown up by a little luck," he sneered, and he followed his friend to the street.
"You got 'em buffaloed sure, Jack. Tell me how you do it," demanded Jumbo with a fat grin.
"I'm the law, Jumbo."
"Go tell that to the Mexicans, son. What do you reckon a killer like Overstreet cares for the law? He figured you might down him before he could gun you--didn't want to risk an even break with you."
The Ranger poured his untasted liquor into the spittoon and settled the bill. "Think I'll drop around to the Silver Dollar an' see if my birds have lit again."
At the Silver Dollar Jack found his friend the ex-Confederate doing business with another cattleman.
"I'd call that a sorry-lookin' lot, Winters," he was saying. "I know a jackpot bunch of cows when I see 'em. They look to me like they been fed on short grass an' shin-oak." His face lighted at sight of the Ranger. "Hello, brindle-haid! Didn't know you was in town."