"Seen the time when you could handle them alone, didn't you, Si?"
"Yes, and I can now."
"Nix, Si. Your gun arms ain't what they was sence Overland Red winged
you."
"How in hell do you know he did?"
"I could tell you more. But come on in and have one on the house. If I
was you, I'd set with my back to the door and be taking a drink. Red
Summers never shot a man in the back yet. If he's playin' for _you_,
why, that gives you a chance to pull a gun."
"How about you?" queried Saunders.
"Me? None of my business. I'm here to push the booze."
"And you'll do your collectin' with a gun, or go broke, if it's Red
Summers and his friends."
"Tryin' to scare me because you are?" asked the bartender.
"Red helped Kennedy out of a mix once. Kennedy is his friend."
"But Joe ain't here. What's gettin' into you? How do you know it is Red,
anyway? You act queer."
"I got a hunch," said Saunders.
"Then you want to go into action quick, for when a gunman gets a hunch
that he knows who is trailin' him, it's a bad sign."
Saunders drummed on the table with his fingers. The drink of liquor had
restored his nerve. Perhaps the riders were not coming to visit him,
after all. He rose and stepped to the door.
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