which his words excited the terror seemed to have left Ronicky and Gus. They rode close, their heads toward Sliver alone.
“There goes Vic,” mused Sliver. “There he goes—go on. Mac, you old fool!—scared to death, ridin' for his life. And why? Because he believes some ghost stories he's heard about Dan Barry!”
“Ghost stories?” echoed Reeve. “Some of 'em ain't fairy tales, Sliver.”
“Jest name one that ain't!”
“Well, the way he trailed Jim Silent. We've all heard of Silent, and Barry—was too good for him.”
“Bah,” sneered Sliver. “Too good for Silent? Ye lied readily enough: booze done for Silent long before Barry come along.”
“That right?”
“I'll tell a man it is. Mind you, I don't say Barry ain't handy with his gun; but he's done a little and the gents have furnished the trimmin's. Look here, if Barry is the man-eater they say, why did he pick a time for comin' down when the sheriff was out of town?”
“By God!” exclaimed Ronicky. “I never thought of that!”
“Sure you didn't,” chuckled Sliver. “But this sucker figures that you and Gus and me will be easy pickin's. He figures we'll do what Vic did—hit for the tall pines. Then he'll blow around how he ran the four of us out of Alder. Be pleasant comin' back to talk like that, eh?”
