The judge watched them thoughtfully. He wished Ace would get control of that temper; he said foolish things when he was angry, and people might misunderstand him.
About ten that night Toothpick and Jim Allen arrived back in town. All day they had lain flat on their stomachs, under cover of brush, and watched the lava fields with a pair of powerful binoculars. Now they had circled the town and entered it from the north.
Toothpick went to the jail, where he held a long, whispered conference with the sheriff. Powers’ expression changed from surprise to delight as he listened. Allen went to Maria’s cantina. He staggered as he arrived, but he had money to pay for a bottle, so Maria allowed him to remain. He chose a table close to the rear door; here he drank the first bottle and called for another. He was halfway through this when Dutchy and another man entered. They argued drunkenly for a time, and ended in a fist fight.
A table and a chair crashed over. Maria screamed. She left her bar to stop the fight and assailed the two men with furious words. They mumbled and staggered out. When she returned to the bar she looked about for Allen; he had vanished. Puzzled, she stared about for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders with indifferent indolence.
Allen had slipped, under cover of the fight, out of the back door. He found, as he expected, another door beyond, that led from the storeroom into a path. This, in turn, led to an alley, which cut the block in two and was lined by shacks, little better than hovels. Directly opposite from the intersection of the path and the alley lay a corral.
“That’s where Mr. Anderson got straw on his feet. He comes by that narrow alley so he won’t have to go by them greaser shacks, ’cause, if he did, they might talk. Let’s see what he comes for.” Allen chuckled to himself.
He removed his blue glasses, took a Colt from his shoulder holster, and tucked it inside his belt. Then he flitted across the alley and ducked under the corral bars, silent as a ghost. He crossed the corral to a wall on the farther side. Music within told him that this was the rear of the Red Queen Saloon. There was no door here, so he slipped over to the barn and examined that. He passed the double doors that led to the stable. Beyond these he found a small door which was locked. He recrossed the corral, slipped under the bars, and tiptoed down the alley toward Depot Street. In one or two of the shacks there were lights, and once he passed two slovenly Mexicans seated in a doorway. They called to him, but he hurried by.
Back on Main Street he fell into his rôle once more, staggering and singing softly to himself. He peered through the doors of the Red Queen, not daring to enter, because of the danger of being thrown out. Yet if he found Anderson, he had a plan that he thought would reinstate him in the Red Queen. He waited until several men clattered in to the bar and slipped in after them. He ducked through into the dancing hall, unseen by the bartenders. By good luck he found Anderson watching a poker game. He plucked his sleeve.
Anderson scowled at him.
“Say, mister,” he whined, “don’t let that sheriff jug me. They tell me you’re a good guy that don’t kick a guy just ’cause he’s down on his luck.”