tion. He led them outside, and behind the horse shed of the saloon.
“We're alone?” he asked.
“Nothin' in sight.”
“Look sharp.”
They peered about them through the night, and a wan moon only helped to make the darkness visible.
“Gents, we may be alone now, but we ain't goin' to be alone long. Get your hosses and ride like hell. Barry is in town!”
“Vic, you're drunk.”
“I tell you, he's been seen!”
“Then by God,” growled Sliver Waldron, “lead me to him. I need to have a little talk with that gent.”
“Lead you to him?” echoed Vic Gregg. “Sliver, are you hungerin' to push daisies?”
“Look here, Bud,” answered the older man, and he laid a hand on the shoulder of Vic. “You been with this Barry, gent, and you've lived in his house. D'you mean to say you're one of the lot that talks about him like he was a ghost bullets couldn't harm? I tell you, son, they's been so much chatter about him that folks forget he's human. I'm goin' to remind 'em of that little fact.”
Vic Gregg groaned. Even while he talked he was glancing over his shoulder as if he feared the shadows under the moon. His voice was half gasp, half whisper.
“Sliver—Ronicky—don't ask me how I know—jest
