They merged into the darkness. The moon would not be up until midnight.
CHAPTER IV
BUCK LAYS PLANS
Templeton Buck did not particularly enjoy his call at the Circle Bar, nor did he find its occupants very slow in their reception. He did not see any one, in fact, nor did the dozen riders behind him. The buildings were dark and apparently deserted, until the blast of a shotgun ripped the night and Jake Harper’s voice accosted the arrivals boomingly.
The ominous darkness, the more ominous silence, held the Running Dog men bunched up and nervous. Harper’s words made them more nervous, when it became evident that Jake had witnessed the shooting on the road and was perfectly willing to testify to the fact. Buck made up his mind to go home and went.
With him went Pincher Brady, alias Murphy, and the dozen riders. Murphy displayed no great grief for his defunct relative, but he was savagely disposed toward one Jack Robinson.
Once at the rangy, rather unkempt buildings which served the Running Dog as headquarters, Buck called Murphy into consultation. He also summoned the newly promoted foreman, one “Sandy” Davitt, a sour individual marred by a cast in one eye.
“We’ve made a mess of things since this morning, y’ understand,” Buck said glumly. “Murphy failed in town, and this here Robinson gent ran into a heap of luck headfirst. He’s a flash gunman from somewhere, and Harper has put him in the bunk house.”
“Old Jake has got his back up sudden,” observed Sandy Davitt with a sneer. “Hope you ain’t lost any nerve lately, Buck? He sure handed you a mouthful to-night.”
Buck swore under his breath. His thin, raw-boned features were etched with red.