“Is that all?”
“Yep, for now.”
Allen suddenly remembered he had not eaten that evening. After Slivers left him, he went into a Chinese restaurant, hastily devoured a steak, and then wandered back to the Ace High. He saw Pop sitting with several friends at a table in the rear. As Jim neared a group of men standing at the bar they grew silent, and he knew they had been discussing Jack Allen. He ordered a drink.
“Yuh driftin’ to-night? I see yuh got your grays all packed,” the bartender said genially.
“Reckon so. I hears tell that brother of mine is goin’ to post his list to-morrow, so I figgers on gettin’ out of town afore he tells me to get.” Allen grinned.
He waited and consumed another drink before going outside. At the hitching rail he swung onto the back of his saddled horse and waved his hand toward a group of loafers.
“S’long, fellers! To hell with this town, I say!” he called back with a laugh.
And, riding slowly, Jim-twin Allen passed down the street and out of the town. A mile farther on he climbed the banks of the gulch and hid his grays in a clump of trees. Then he hurried back toward town, his rifle under one arm. He skirted Goldville and cautiously approached the trail that led to the American Beauty. Here he found Slivers Hart waiting for him.
“About an hour ago a feller went by so fast I couldn’t tell who it was,” Slivers informed him.
“I’m bettin’ my hunch is plumb correct,” said Allen, grinning, “an’, if I ain’t mistaken, another gent will come a-runnin’ pronto.”