d on the flowin'
glass, Buck, an' he's heah for keeps."

"Why doesn't Sheriff Oaks lock him up if he's that bad?"

"Oaks went away with the rangers. There's been another raid at Flesher's
ranch. The King Fisher gang, likely. An' so the town's shore wide open."

Duane stalked outdoors and faced down the street. He walked the whole
length of the long block, meeting many people--farmers, ranchers,
clerks, merchants, Mexicans, cowboys, and women. It was a singular fact
that when he turned to retrace his steps the street was almost empty. He
had not returned a hundred yards on his way when the street was wholly
deserted. A few heads protruded from doors and around corners. That main
street of Wellston saw some such situation every few days. If it was an
instinct for Texans to fight, it was also instinctive for them to sense
with remarkable quickness the signs of a coming gun-play. Rumor could
not fly so swiftly. In less than ten minutes everybody who had been on
the street or in the shops knew that Buck Duane had come forth to meet
his enemy.

Duane walked on. When he came to within fifty paces of a saloon he
swerved out into the middle of the street, stood there for a moment,
then went ahead and back to the sidewalk. He passed on in this way the
length of the block. Sol White was standing in the door of his saloon.

"Buck, I'm a-tippin' you off," he said, quick and low-voiced. "Cal
Bain's over at Everall's. If he's a-huntin' you bad, as he brags, he'll
show there."

Duane crossed the street and started down. Notwithstanding White's
statement Duane was wary and slow at every door. Nothing happened,
and he traversed almost the whole length of the block without seeing a
person. Everall's place was on the corner.

Duane knew himself to be cold, steady. He was conscious of a strange
fury that made him want to leap ahead. He seemed to long for this
encounter more than anything he had ever wanted. But, vivid as were his
sensations, he felt as if in a dream.

Before he reached Everall's he heard loud voices, one of which was
raised high. Then the short door swung outward as if impelled by a
vigorous hand. A bow-legged cowboy wearing wooley chaps burst out upon
the sidewalk. At sight of Duane he seemed to bound into the air, and he
uttered a savage roar.

Duane stopped in his tracks at the outer edge of the sidewalk, perhaps a
dozen rods from Everall's door.

If Bain was drunk he did not show it in his movement. He swagg