"How's the li'l' lady?" he asked in his high falsetto, after Mollie had walked down the passage with him.

"She's a mighty sick girl. Pneumonia, likely."

"Tell doc not to let her die. If he needs another doctor some of us'll h-hustle over to Glenwood an' g-get one. Say, Mrs. Gillespie, I reckon there's gonna be trouble in town to-night."

She said nothing, but her blue eyes questioned him.

Blister's next sentence sent her moving toward the saloon.

CHAPTER XIII

BEAR CAT ASKS QUESTIONS

A man bow-legged into Gillespie's and went straight to the bar. "Gimme a drink--something damned hot," he growled.

He was a big, broad-shouldered fellow, hook-nosed, with cold eyes set close. Hair and eyebrows were matted with ice and a coat of sleet covered his clothes. Judging from voice and manner, he was in a vile humor.

A young fellow standing near was leaning with his back against the bar, elbows resting on it. One heel was hooked casually over the rail.

"Anything been seen of a strange girl in town to-night?" the newcomer asked. "She ain't right in her head an' I was takin' her to her dad's place when she slipped away. I'm worried about her, out in this storm."

The cowpuncher looked at him coldly, eye to eye. "I'd say you got a license to be. If she's lost out to-night she's liable to be frozen to death before mo'ning."

"Yes," agreed Houck, and his lids narrowed. What did this young fellow mean? There was something about his manner both strange and challenging.

If he was looking for a fight, Houck knew just where he could be accommodated.

"In which case--"

The puncher stopped significantly.

"In which case--?" Houck prompted.

"--it might be unlucky for the guy that took her out an' lost her."

"What's yore name, fellow?" Jake demanded.

"Fellow, my name's Dud Hollister," promptly answered the other. "D'you like it?"

"Not much. Neither it nor you."

Houck turned insolently back to the bar for his drink.

Mike was stirring into the glass of liquor cayenne pepper which he was shaking from a paper. He was using as a mixer the barrel of a forty-five.

The salient jaw of Houck jutted out. "What monkey trick are you tryin' to play on me?" he asked angrily.

"You wanted it hot," Mike replied, and the bartender's gaze too was cold and level.

It seemed to the former rustler that here was a second man ready to fasten a quarrel on him. What was the matter with these fellows anyhow?

Another puncher ranged himself beside Hollister. "Who did this bird claim he was, Dud?" he asked out loud, offensively.

"Didn't say. Took that li'l' bride out in this storm an' left her there.

Expect he'll be right popular in Bear Cat."

Houck smothered his rage. This was too serious to be settled by an explosion of anger and an appeal to arms.

"I tell you she hid whilst I was openin' a gate. I been lookin' for her six hours. Thought maybe she'd come to town. My idee is to organize a search party an' go out after her. Quick as we can slap saddles on broncs an' hit the trail."

Fragments of the facts had drifted out to the boys from the sick-room.

Dud tried an experiment. "Where'll we hunt for her--up toward Piceance?"

Houck deliberated before answering. If he were to tell the truth--that she had escaped from him in the hills nine miles down the river--these men would know he had been lying when he said he was taking June to her father. If he let the search party head toward Piceance, there would be no chance for it to save the girl. The man was no coward. To his credit, he told the truth.

A half-circle of hostile faces hemmed him in, for the word had spread that this was the man who had carried off June Tolliver. He was the focus of a dozen pairs of eyes. Among the cattlemen of the Old West you will still look into many such eyes, but never among city dwellers will you find them. Blue they are for the most part or gray-blue, level, direct, unfearing; quiet and steady as steel, flinging no flags of flurry, tremendously sure of themselves. They can be very likable eyes, frank and kind, with innumerable little lines of humor radiating from the corners; or they can be stern and chill as the Day of Judgment.

Jake Houck found in them no gentleness. They judged him, inexorably, while he explained.

"Where was you takin' her?" asked Larson, of the Wagon Rod outfit.

In spite of his boldness, of the dominating imperiousness by means of which he had been used to ride roughshod over lesser men, Houck felt a chill sensation at his heart. They were too quiet--too quiet by half.

"We was to have been married to-day," he said surlily. "This Dillon boy got her to run off with him. He was no good. I rode hell-for-leather into town to head 'em off."

Blister brought him back to the question of the moment. "An' you were t-takin' her--?"

"To Brown's Park."

"Forcin' her to go. Was that it?" Hollister broke in.

"No, sir. She went of her own accord."

"Asked you to take her there, mebbe?"

"None o' yore damn business."

"How old is she, Mr. Houck?" Larson questioned.

"I dunno."

"I do. Sixteen coming Christmas," said Dud. "Dillon told me."

"An' how old are you, Mr. Houck?" the quiet, even voice of the owner of the Wagon Rod pursued.