Wood took a careful survey of the door before replying, working his cigar over to the other side of his mouth in the way that a one-armed man acquires the trick.
"I—they say he got mixed up in a cattle deal down there."
Lambert smoked in silence a little while, his head bent, his face thoughtful. Wood shifted a little nearer, standing straight and alert behind his counter as if prepared to act in some sudden emergency.
"Does he live around here?" Lambert asked.
"He's workin' for Berry Kerr, foreman over there. That's the job he used to have before he—left."
Lambert grunted, expressing that he understood the situation. He stood in his leaning, careless posture, arm on the show case, thumb hooked in his belt near his gun.
"I thought I'd tell you," said Wood uneasily.
"Thanks."
Wood came a step nearer along the counter, leaned his good arm on it, watching the door without a break.
"He's one of the old gang that used to give Philbrook so much trouble—he's carryin' lead that Philbrook shot into him now. So he's got it in for that ranch, and everybody on it. I thought I'd tell you."