terested in the talk around
him. He was watching Blair with narrowed, glittering eyes, in which Owen
could see suspicion. It was as though he were wondering if Blair knew
that the man of whom he spoke now was at that minute sitting close to
him, listening. But presently, Owen became convinced that Kelso thought
not, for the suspicion in the gunman's eyes changed to cold, secret
amusement.

"Kelso's pulled his freight from Lazette," declared Blair, during the
course of his talk. "It's likely he'll drift somewhere where he ain't so
well known. It got to be pretty hard pickin' for him around here--folks
fight shy of him. But he was sure a killer!"

Blair paused. "I reckon I might mention a man that he didn't kill," said
a man who lay near Blair. "An' he wanted to, mighty bad."

"We're wantin' to know," returned Blair. "He must have been a high-grade
gun-slinger."

The man nodded toward Randerson, who apparently was not listening to this
conversation. There was a subdued chuckle from the man, and grunts of
admiration or skepticism from the others. Owen's gaze was fixed on Kelso;
he saw the latter's eyes gleam wickedly. Yes, that was it, Owen saw now;
the recollection of his defeat at Randerson's hands still rankled in the
gunman's mind. Owen saw him glance covertly at Randerson, observed his
lips curl.

One of the other men saw the glance also. Not having the knowledge
possessed by Owen, the man guffawed loudly, indicating the gunman.

"Dorgan ain't swallerin' your yarn about Randerson puttin' a kink in
Kelso," he said to Blair.

Randerson turned, a mild grin on his face. "You fellows quit your
soft-soapin' about that run-in with Kelso," he said. "There ain't any
compliments due me. I was pretty lucky to get out of that scrape with a
whole hide. They told me Kelso's gun got snagged when he was tryin' to
draw it."

So then, Randerson _had_ been listening, despite his apparent
abstraction. And Owen sat rigid when he saw the gunman look coldly at
Randerson and clear his throat.

Plainly, if Kelso had been awaiting an opportunity to take issue with
Randerson, it was now!

"Yes," he said, "you was mighty lucky."

There was a sneer in the words, and malevolence in the twist of his lips
as his voice came through them.

A flat, dead silence followed the speech. Every man held the position in
which he had been when the gunman had spoken; nothing but their eyes
moved, and these were directed from Randerson to the gunm