Laskar nodded.
Rogers cleared his throat, and Lawson moved his feet uneasily.
Deveny’s scowl faded; he grinned coldly.
“Giving orders—is he?” he snapped. “Well, we’ll see.” He laughed. “When Harlan hits town it will be a sign that old Morgan’s crossed the Divide. Well, there was no witnesses to Morgan’s cashing in, and one man’s word is as good as another’s in this country.”
“Meanin’?” questioned Rogers, noting the light in Deveny’s eyes.
“Meaning that Laskar is going—right now—to whisper into Sheriff Gage’s ear that he saw our friend, ‘Drag’ Harlan, killing old Morgan.”
Rogers got to his feet, grinning. The gleam in his eyes indicated that he felt some relief over the prospect presented by Deveny’s suggestion.
“Of course we ain’t sure Harlan means to make trouble here,” he told Deveny; “but it’s just as well to shove him off onto the sheriff.”
The four men walked to the front door of the First Chance, after pausing for a few minutes at the bar.
Outside, halting for an instant on the board platform in front of the saloon, Rogers, who had been the first to emerge, started as he glanced toward the desert, and then stood rigid, shading his hands with his eyes against the sun that poured into his face.