"First thing," he said now--and utter silence spread around the table as
he began to talk--"first thing is that McGuire is coming. I seen him on
the trail, cut to the left and took the short way. He ought to be loping
in almost any minute."
Terry saw the others looking straight at Pollard; the leader was
thoughtful for a moment.
"Is he coming with a gang, Sandy?"
"Nope--alone."
"He was always a nervy cuss. Someday--"
He left the sentence unfinished. Denver had risen noiselessly.
"I'm going to beat it for my bunk," he announced. "Let me know when the
sheriff is gone."
"Sit where you are, Denver. McGuire ain't going to lay hands on you."
"Sure he ain't," agreed Denver. "But I ain't partial to having guys lay
eyes on me, neither. Some of you can go out and beat up trouble. I like
to stay put."
And he glided out of the room with no more noise than a sliding shadow.
He had hardly disappeared when a heavy hand beat at the door.
"That's McGuire," announced Pollard. "Let him in, Phil." So saying, he
twitched his gun out of the holster, spun the cylinder, and dropped it
back.
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