Another minute—less than that, even—and the boys were able to congratulate themselves over their smartness in leaving in such a hurry. The ponies came to a halt directly before the door of the former hostelry. Throwing the lines over the heads of their mounts, cowboy fashion, so that the animals would remain at a stand under all ordinary conditions, the riders entered.
Frank and his chums could hear loud and rough voices.
"That was Nash Yesson who spoke then!" whispered Lanky in Paul's ear, for they were all bunched close together on purpose, and had their ears doing almost double duty in the endeavor to learn all they could.
"It was Lef Seller he called down, too," observed Frank, with great caution, for it would invite a ruction little short of a calamity if those angry men discovered the boys crouching there and listening to what went on.
"I just glimpsed Lef," Lanky communicated in his softest tone; "and you ought to see how bad he looks. He's had nothing but hard knocks ever since he ran up against that Yesson. The tough boys over at Double Z Ranch must have rubbed it in hard, too."
"He's only getting what he deserves," Paul muttered, half to himself, thinking of the base duplicity and deceit toward his own father Lef had been guilty of.
"'Sh! Let's listen for all we're worth, and perhaps we'll pick up some news," suggested Frank, who disapproved of all this whispering that was taking place.
He himself had taken several cautious looks, and had learned that besides Lef Seller and Nash Yesson there were four other persons in the crowd that had entered the forsaken tavern.
"That queer fish with the body of a runt and the head of a giant seems to answer to the name of Rick Muddy," Frank told himself. "The name about fits his crooked body, I'd say. Those other three tough-looking citizens must hang up their hats at the Double Z when they're at home, for they've got the make-up of cow-punchers, heavily armed, and out for business."