The Boss of the Lazy Y

by Charles Alden Seltzer

He had taken quick note of these men. They were Neal Taggart; a tall, lanky, unprepossessing man with a truculent eye rimmed by lashless lids, and with a drooping mustache which almost concealed the cruel curve of his lips, whom he knew as Denver Ed—having met him several times in the Durango country; and a medium-sized stranger whom he knew as Garvey. The latter was dark-complexioned, with a hook nose and a loose-lipped mouth.

Calumet did not appear to notice them. He poured his glass full and lifted it, preparatory to drinking. Before it reached his lips he became aware of a movement among the three men—Garvey had left them and was standing beside him.

"Have that on me," said Garvey, silkily, to Calumet.

Calumet surveyed him with a glance of mild interest. He set his glass down, and the other silently motioned to the bartender for another.

"Stranger here, I reckon?" said Garvey as he poured his whiskey. "Where's your ranch?"

"The Lazy Y," said Calumet.

The other filled his glass. "Here's how," he said, and tilted it toward his lips. Calumet did likewise. If he felt the man's hand on the butt of the six-shooter at his hip, he gave no indication of it. Nor did he seem to exhibit any surprise or concern when, after drinking and setting the glass down, he looked around to see that Garvey had drawn the weapon out and was examining it with apparently casual interest.

This action on the part of Garvey was unethical and dangerous, and there were men among the dozen in the room who looked sneeringly at Calumet, or to one another whispered the significant words, "greenhorn" and "tenderfoot." Others, to whom the proprietor had spoken concerning Calumet, looked at him in surprise. Still others merely stared at Garvey and Calumet, unable to account for the latter's mild submission to this unallowed liberty. The proprietor alone, remembering a certain gleam in Calumet's eyes on a former occasion, looked at him now and saw deep in his eyes a slumbering counterpart to it, and discreetly retired to the far end of the bar, where there was a whiskey barrel in front of him.

But Calumet seemed unconcerned.

"Some gun," remarked Garvey. It was strange, though, that he was not looking at the weapon at all, or he might have seen the empty chambers. He was looking at Calumet, and it was apparent that his interest in the weapon was negative.