He strode past Hough, and behind him; then as if suddenly,
instinctively, answering to fury, he whipped out a gun.
Neale, just as instinctively, grasped the rising hand.
"Hold on, there!" he called. "Would you shoot a man in the back?"
And Neale, whose grip was powerful, caused the other to drop the
gun. Neale kicked it aside. Fresno got up.
"Whar's your head, Mull?" he growled. "Git out of this!"
Attention had been attracted to Mull. Some one picked up the gun.
The sallow-faced man rose, holding out his hand for it. Hough did
not even turn around.
"I was goin' to hold him up," said Mull. He glared fiercely at
Neale, wrenched his hand free, and with his comrades disappeared in
the crowd.
The gambler rose and shook down his sleeves. The action convinced
Neale that he had held a little gun in each hand. "I saw him draw,"
he said. "You saved his life! ... Nevertheless, I appreciate your
action. My name is Place Hough. Will you drink with me?"
"Sure.... My name is Neale."
They approached the bar and drank together.
"A railroad man, I take it?" asked Hough.
"I was. I'm foot-loose now."
A fleeting smile crossed the gambler's face. "Benton is bad enough,
without you being foot-loose."
"All these camps are tough," replied Neale.
"I was in North Platte, Kearney, Cheyenne, and Medicine Bow during
their rise," said Hough.
Pages:
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229