e
preliminary gabble of a fight and took no interest in it. He did _not_
know all about de Spain, and being about to face his bullets he had
prudence enough to wonder whether the man could have brought a
reputation to Sleepy Cat without having done something to earn it.
What Sandusky was sensibly intent on was the determination that he
should not contribute personally to the further upbuilding of
anybody's reputation. His eyes with this resolve shining in them
rested intently on de Spain, and at his side the long fingers of his
right hand beat a soft tattoo against his pistol holster. De Spain's
question seemed to arouse him. "What's your name?" he demanded
bluntly. His voice was heavy and his deafness was reflected in the
strained tone.

"It's on the butt of my gun, Sandusky."

"What's that he says?" demanded the man known as the butcher, asking
the question of Logan, but without taking his eyes off his shifty
prey.

Logan raised his voice to repeat the words and to add a ribald
comment.

"You make a good deal of noise," muttered Sandusky, speaking again to
de Spain.

"That ought not to bother you much, Sandusky," shouted de Spain,
trying to win a smile from his taciturn antagonist.

"His noise won't bother anybody much longer," put in Logan, whose
retorts overflowed at every interval. But there was no smile even
hinted at in the uncompromising vigilance of Sandusky's expressionless
face. De Spain discounted the next few minutes far enough to feel that
Sandusky's first shot would mean death to him, even if he could return
it.

"I'll tell you, de Spain," continued Logan, "we're going to have a
drink with you. Then we're going to prepare you for going back where
you come from--with nice flowers."

"I guess you thought you could come out here and run over everybody in
the Spanish Sinks," interposed Morgan, with every oath he could summon
to load his words.

"Keep out, Morgan," exclaimed Logan testily. "I'll do this talking."

De Spain continued to banter. "Gentlemen," he said, addressing the
three together and realizing that every moment wasted before the
shooting added a grain of hope, "I am ready to drink when you are."

"He's ready to drink, Tom," roared Morgan in the deaf man's ear.

"I'm ready," announced Sandusky in hollow voice.

Still regarding de Spain with the most businesslike expression, the
grizzled outlaw took a guarded step forward, his companions following
suit. De Spain, always with a j