Friends of mine."
"Whole six of 'em, eh?"
"Whole six of 'em."
"Well, we won't butt in. We'll give you lots of room."
Saunders said nothing. He paid for the liquor, and, stepping to the
table, sat with his back to the doorway. In front of him lay his guns,
placed handily, but with studied carelessness. He leaned naturally on
one elbow, as though half asleep. His hat was tilted over his brows.
From outside came the jingle of spurs and rein-chains and the distant
sound of voices. Saunders began leisurely to roll a cigarette. He laid a
few matches on the table. Several of the men at the bar grinned
knowingly.
Then came the gritting of heels on the hardpacked trail and Overland
Red stood in the doorway. "Mornin', gents--and Saunders," he said,
glancing at the figure seated back toward him.
"Hello, Red!" exclaimed Joe Kennedy. "Out early, ain't you. Have a
drink."
"Not out too early. Hello, Lusk!"
"How, Red," said the saloon-keeper.
"Where's your friends. Ask 'em in," said Kennedy.
"Shall I ask 'em in, Saunders?" queried Overland, his voice edged with a
double meaning.
"Not on my account," said Saunders over his shoulder.
"All right. Let's have a drink, boys.
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