"Stranger," replied the landlord, turning a pair of calm brown eyes on his questioner--"stranger, a gent don't never look for trouble. It comes to him unexpected-like. But none ain't comin' to me to-day.

Soon as I seen you two tinhorns in here I told a friend o' mine. He's a-watchin' yuh from the window right now."

Block and his friend involuntarily turned their heads. Framed in the open window were the head and shoulders of a man. In his hands was a sawed-off shotgun. The blunt muzzle gaped ominously at them.

"Well, by Gawd!" began the scratch-faced man.

"Shut up!" said Block. "These folks seem scared of us. No use fussin'. We'll just licker an' git."

"Them's the words I like to hear," observed the landlord, slapping bottle and gla.s.ses on the bar. "Yuh can't pull out too quick to suit me, Block. I know about yore goin's-on down in Farewell--rubbin' out harmless strangers. Yuh may be a sheriff an' all that, but yore office don't travel a foot in Sunset County."

"Yuh talk big," growled Block. "Yuh needn't think yuh can bluff me.

If I feel like takin' this town apart, I'll do it."

"Sh.o.r.e, just like yuh took the Bend apart. Got the mola.s.ses out o'

yore system yet?"

Block's eyes were fairly murderous. The landlord grinned.

"That shotgun's double-barrelled," he observed. "Buckshot in each barrel."

Block gulped his whisky. The scratch-faced man had finished his drink and was placidly rolling a cigarette.

"Never did like to quarrel," he remarked, "special not with a shotgun.

Mister"--to the landlord--"have any gents from the Bend rode in to-day--or yesterday?"

"Lookin' for friends?" queried the landlord.

"Sh.o.r.e!"

"I thought so. Well, I can't tell yuh. Yuh see, I ain't right well acquainted hereabouts. I dunno everybody. There might somebody 'a'

come through, an' then again there mightn't. I seed a Injun yest'day, though. Looked like a Digger. Might he be yore partic'lar friend?"

An exquisite solicitude was in the landlord's tone.

The other refused to take offence. He smiled wryly. When he spoke, his words were without rancour.

"I can't claim the Injun. I was thinkin' of a sport named Loudon.

Know him?"

"I told yuh I didn't know many people round here."

"I was just a-wonderin'. I was kind o' anxious to see Loudon."

"Well, I dunno nothin' about him."

"There was a man here named Loudon," piped up the drummer, perceiving an opportunity of annoying the landlord. "He stayed here all night.

Another man was with him, a very dirty old character named Mackenzie.

I think Scotty was his first name."

"Which way did they go?" demanded Block.

"They rode away toward Paradise Bend."

"That drummer can lie faster'n a hoss can trot," drawled the landlord.

"You know they stayed here all night," said the drummer with a flash of spirit. "I had breakfast with them."

The landlord walked swiftly to the drummer, who quailed.

"Yo're lyin'!" announced the landlord. "Say so. Say yo're lyin', yuh pup, or I'll pull yore neck in half."

"I'm lyin'!" cried the drummer, hastily. "I'm lyin'."

"There wasn't n.o.body here but you, was there?" inquired the landlord.

"N-no."

"I guess that's enough. You see how reliable this sport is, gents.

Can't believe a word he says."

Block turned toward the door. The scratch-faced man winked at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar and stuck his tongue in his cheek.

"C'mon," said Block.

The sheriff and his friend went out into the street. The landlord followed, his expression one of pleasurable antic.i.p.ation. Four citizens of Rocket, grouped on the sidewalk, glumly watched the two men as they swung into their saddles and loped away. The landlord's face fell.

"Say," he demanded, "why didn't yuh arrest him?"

"Couldn't be did," replied the largest of the quartette, who wore a marshal's star on his vest. "Loudon said his hoss was a chestnut, white spot on nose, didn't he? One o' them two cayuses was a black, but the other was a bald-face pinto. Nothin' like a chestnut."

"But Loudon done said the hoss thief was ridin' with Sheriff Block."

"That's all true enough, an' the party a-ridin' off with Block may be a hoss thief, but if he is, he ain't ridin' Loudon's hoss. An' Loudon's hoss is the only one we know about. Got to go by the hoss, Dave."

"Why, looky here, Sim, Loudon described the feller right plain. That's Rufe Cutting a-ridin' away there with Block, or I'm a Dutchman."

"He may be," returned the marshal, equably, "an' if Loudon was here an'

could identify him I'd grab him too quick. But unless he's ridin' a chestnut hoss with a white spot on his nose I can't arrest him without a warrant. An' there ain't no warrant. See how it is, Dave?"

"Oh, I see all right," mourned the landlord, "an' it makes me sick.

Soon as I seen 'em come in my place I says to myself, 'Here's that hoss thief.' All I thought of was that Loudon said the sport was with Block. It makes me sick. It sh.o.r.e does. After me a-cookin' it all up with you to arrest him! C'mon in an' have somethin', an' watch me give that drummer the prettiest lickin' he ever had in his life."

CHAPTER XII

SCOTTY ADVISES