“I shipped aboard of a liner, boys—”
“Renzo, boys, renzo,” finished Trinidad, falling in place at the table.
At this point the outside door was unexpectedly pushed open, inward, and the Deputy-Sheriff came into their midst.
“Ashby just rode in with his posse,” he announced huskily to his superior.
The Sheriff flashed a look of annoyance and inquired of the gaunt, hollow-cheeked, muscular Deputy whose beaver overcoat was thrown open so that his gun and powder-flask showed plainly in his belt:
“Why, what’s he doing here?”
“He’s after Ramerrez,” answered the Deputy, eyeing him intently.
Rance received this information in silence and went on with his shuffling of the cards; presently, unconcernedly, he remarked:
“Ramerrez—Oh, that’s the polite road agent who has been visiting the other camps?”
“Yes; he’s just turned into your county,” declared the Deputy, meaningly.