t
as Dade and Calumet entered, favored them with quick, appraising
glances, and then resumed their talk and laughter. Behind the bar the
proprietor waited, indolently watching.

"I'll take red-eye," said Dade; "the same that made me think I was a
sure enough gambler last night. Did you ever notice," he added,
turning to Calumet, who was filling his glass, "what a heap of
confidence whisky will give a man? Take me, last night. Things was
lookin' rosy. Them gamblers looked like plumb easy pickin'. The more
whisky I drank the easier they looked, until--"

"Have another drink," invited the proprietor, for it was at one of his
tables that Dade had played. His smile was bland and his manner suave
and smooth. He shoved a bottle toward Dade. At the same time he
looked with interest upon Calumet.

"Stranger here, I reckon?" he said. "I seen you loadin' a heap of
stuff into your wagon. What's your ranch?"

"The Lazy Y."

The proprietor started and peered closer at Calumet. "That's old
Marston's place, ain't it?" To Calumet's slow nod, he continued:
"Betty Clayton's runnin' it now. They say old Marston was the meanest
old coyote that ever--"

Calumet's gaze was level and direct, and the proprietor shrank under
its cold malignance. Calumet leaned forward. "You're talkin' to the
old coyote's son right now," he said. "An' you can speak right out
loud in meetin' an' say that you was gassin' through your hat!"

The proprietor paled, then reddened. "I'm beggin' your pardon," he
said. "I reckon--you see--there's been talk--"

"Sure," said Calumet. He smiled. It was the smile of reluctant
tolerance. "Just talk," he added. "But it won't be healthy
talk--hereafter."

"Have another drink," invited the proprietor, and he pulled a
handkerchief from a pocket and wiped the sudden perspiration from his
forehead. Then he retreated to the far end of the bar, from whence he
tried to appear unconcerned.

Dade finished his drink and set the glass down. But he was visibly
excited.

"Betty Clayton," he said, looking sharply at Calumet. "Has she got a
granddad named Malcolm Clayton, an' a brother Bob?"

"That's her." Calumet returned Dade's sharp glance. "What's eatin'
you? Know her? Know Bob? Know Malcolm?"

"Know them!" said Dade. "Why, man, they was neighbors of mine in
Texas!"

Calumet's eyes narrowed. A pulse of some strong emotion was revealed
in his face, but it was instantly subdued. "That's j