“Hearin' you talk, Ronicky,” he said, “you'd think you was really scared of Dan Barry.”
Ronicky Joe stiffened in his saddle and peered through the uncertain light to make out if Sliver were jesting. But the latter seemed perfectly grave.
“A gent would almost think,” went on Sliver, “that we three was runnin' away from Barry, instead of goin' out to set a trap for him.”
There was something nearly akin to a grunt from Gus Reeve, but Ronicky merely continued to stare at the leader.
“'S a matter of fact,” said Sliver, “when Vic was talkin' I sort of felt the chills go up my back. How about you, Ronicky?”
“I'll tell a man,” sighed Ronicky. “While Vic was talkin' I seen that devil comin' on his hoss like he done when he broke out of the cabin that night. I'll tell you straight, Sliver. I had my gun drilled on him. I couldn't of missed; but after I fired he kept straight on. It was like puncturin' a shadow!”
“Sure,” nodded Sliver. “Shootin' by night ain't ever a sure thing.”
Ronicky wiped his heated brow.
“So I sent Vic away before he had a chance to get real nervous. But when he comes back—well, boys, it'll be kind of amusin' to watch Vic's face when he saunters into town tomorrow and sees Dan Barry—maybe dead, maybe in the irons. Eh?”
Only a deep silence answered him, but in the interest
