ed to Scott to invite his comment on the proposal. "Think
twice, John," suggested the Indian. "If there's any trouble in a crowd
like that, somebody that has no interest in de Spain or Sandusky is
pretty sure to get hurt."

"I don't mean to start anything," explained Lefever. "I only want de
Spain to look at him."

But sometimes things start themselves. Lefever found Sandusky at a
faro-table. At his side sat his partner, Logan. Three other players,
together with the onlookers, and the dealer--whose tumbled hair fell
partly over the visor that protected his eyes from the glare of the
overhead light--made up the group. The table stood next to that of
Tenison, who, white-faced and impassive under the heat and light,
still held to his chair.

Lefever took a position at one end of the table, where he faced
Sandusky, and de Spain, just behind his shoulder, had a chance to look
the two Calabasas men closely over. Sandusky again impressed him as a
powerful man, who, beyond an ample stomach, carried his weight without
showing it. What de Spain most noted, as it lay on the table, was the
size and extreme length of the outlaw's hand. He had heard of
Sandusky's hand. From the tips of the big fingers to the base of the
palm, this right hand, spread over his chips, would cover half again
the length of the hand of the average man.

De Spain credited readily the extraordinary stories he had heard of
Sandusky's dexterity with a revolver or a rifle. That he should so
lately have missed a shot at so close range was partly explained
now that de Spain perceived Sandusky's small, hard, brown eyes
were somewhat unnaturally bright, and that his brows knit every
little while in his effort to collect himself. But his stimulation
only partly explained the failure; it was notoriously hard to upset
the powerful outlaw with alcohol. De Spain noted the coarse,
straw-colored hair--plastered recently over the forehead by a
barber--the heavy, sandy mustache, freshly waxed by the same hand,
the bellicose nostrils of the Roman nose, the broad, split chin,
and mean, deep lines of a most unpromising face. Sandusky's brown
shirt sprawled open at the collar, and de Spain remembered again
the flashy waistcoat, fastened at the last buttonhole by a cut-glass
button.

At Sandusky's side sat his crony in all important undertakings--a much
smaller, sparer man, with aggressive shoulders and restless eyes.
Logan was the lookout of the pair, and his roving glan