lston was a small town, but important in that unsettled part of the
great state because it was the trading-center of several hundred miles
of territory. On the main street there were perhaps fifty buildings,
some brick, some frame, mostly adobe, and one-third of the lot, and by
far the most prosperous, were saloons. From the road Duane turned into
this street. It was a wide thoroughfare lined by hitching-rails and
saddled horses and vehicles of various kinds. Duane's eye ranged down
the street, taking in all at a glance, particularly persons moving
leisurely up and down. Not a cowboy was in sight. Duane slackened his
stride, and by the time he reached Sol White's place, which was the
first saloon, he was walking slowly. Several people spoke to him and
turned to look back after they had passed. He paused at the door of
White's saloon, took a sharp survey of the interior, then stepped
inside.

The saloon was large and cool, full of men and noise and smoke. The
noise ceased upon his entrance, and the silence ensuing presently broke
to the clink of Mexican silver dollars at a monte table. Sol White, who
was behind the bar, straightened up when he saw Duane; then, without
speaking, he bent over to rinse a glass. All eyes except those of the
Mexican gamblers were turned upon Duane; and these glances were keen,
speculative, questioning. These men knew Bain was looking for trouble;
they probably had heard his boasts. But what did Duane intend to do?
Several of the cowboys and ranchers present exchanged glances. Duane had
been weighed by unerring Texas instinct, by men who all packed guns. The
boy was the son of his father. Whereupon they greeted him and returned
to their drinks and cards. Sol White stood with his big red hands out
upon the bar; he was a tall, raw-boned Texan with a long mustache waxed
to sharp points.

"Howdy, Buck," was his greeting to Duane. He spoke carelessly and
averted his dark gaze for an instant.

"Howdy, Sol," replied Duane, slowly. "Say, Sol, I hear there's a gent in
town looking for me bad."

"Reckon there is, Buck," replied White. "He came in heah aboot an
hour ago. Shore he was some riled an' a-roarin' for gore. Told me
confidential a certain party had given you a white silk scarf, an' he
was hell-bent on wearin' it home spotted red."

"Anybody with him?" queried Duane.

"Burt an' Sam Outcalt an' a little cowpuncher I never seen before.
They-all was coaxin' trim to leave town. But he's looke