Murphy looked down into those deadly blue eyes and made no move for his gun. His fat red features were perspiring a trifle. Robinson mocked at him.
“Oh, you ain’t reachin’ for it, huh? S’pose ye’d like me to turn my back, would ye? Nope, not no more, feller. Besides, they’s ladies present, and I sure hate to expose my back and start you to shootin’.”
“Two men coming up the road,” intervened Estella quickly.
At these words a flash crossed the face of Murphy—a flash of untold relief. Robinson did not miss the look. Then he glanced at the road, and saw the corduroy-clad figure of Buck, followed by another rider.
“Don’t mind if I smoke, Stella?” he drawled. “Thanks. Set down, Murphy. I’m real anxious to hear what Buck has to say to you.”
Murphy did not sit down, but eyed the approaching riders uneasily. Buck slid from his horse, looking visibly excited, and strode toward the veranda. He glanced at Robinson without surprise, then his gaze fell on Murphy. He doffed his hat to Estella.
“Morning, ma’am! You sure look fresh as ever. Got visitors, I see.”
A smile on her lips, Estella stepped forward and shook hands.
“Just in time for lunch, Mr. Buck. Yes, we have visitors. My friend, Mr. Robinson, from the south, and this is Mr. Murphy——”
Buck glanced at Robinson, then turned to Murphy suddenly. A look of recognition came into his eyes. He was acting his part well.