But the great Rickard, at the moment of halting, found himself face to face with the two cowboys, whom he had known well for several years, and with whom he had exchanged more than one shot, each fired with the intent to kill.
“Howdy, Bell?” said Strubell, with a smile on his handsome face which had a world of meaning; “I hope you feel well, pard.”
“Tollyble, thank you,” replied the rogue, extending his hand to each of the cowboys in turn; “how is it with you?”
Lattin answered for both that they were well, and then invited the new arrival to a seat by the fire. Rickard returned thanks as courteously as if he were receiving the greatest favor that could be granted him.
The next moment the three were lolling side by side, as smiling and seemingly on as good terms as though they were brothers. Bell carried his brierwood with him, and Strubell passed him his little sack of tobacco, from which he helped himself, the party mingling their smoke, smiling and even laughing at the jocose remarks that were passed.
Herbert Watrous slept on, undisturbed by the noise, while Nick Ribsam stood in the background, viewing the scene, which impressed him as the most extraordinary he had ever witnessed.
“Let me see,” said Lattin reflectively, “it’s several months since we last met: do you remember where it was?”
“I think,” replied Rickard, looking thoughtfully at the stars, as if busy with memory, “that it was in Laredo, at Brown’s place.”
“You’re right,” struck in the cowboy; “we had a shooting scrap, and I came near passing in my checks.”