"That would have been a little too much!" smiled Bennett. "It was takin'
some risk to let him off as easy as we did. It isn't so long since the
Vigilantes."

"Oh, hell, we can handle that sort of trash now," snorted Webb.

"Who was backing Mex, anyway?" asked Rowlee curiously.

"Better ask who had it in for Rucker," suggested the fourth member of the
group, a man who had not heretofore spoken. This was Dick Blatchford, a
round-faced, rather corpulent, rather silent though jovial-looking
individual, with a calculating and humorous eye. He was magnificently
apparelled, but rather untidy.

"Well, I do ask it," said Rowlee.

But to this he got no response.

"Come on, ain't you got that valuable paper folded up yet?" rumbled Webb to
Sherwood.

They all turned down the high-pillared veranda, toward the bar, talking
idly and facetiously of last night's wine and this morning's head. A door
opened at their very elbow, and in it a woman appeared.




II