Silent Saunders was in the general store and saloon. He was disgusted in that he had been unable to induce the citizens to ride out with him and clean up Overland Red's claim. Overland had once been of them, even if briefly. He had been popular, especially as he was then the quickest man with a gun they had ever honored with their patronage. Also, the Gophertown folk had recently received a warning letter from the superintendent of a transcontinental railroad. They were not interested in Saunders's proposal.
Saunders, coming from the saloon, was not a little surprised to see a band of horsemen far out on the desert. He felt that their presence in his vicinity had something to do with himself. He counted the horses. There were six of them. He knew instantly that the riders were cowmen, although he could not distinguish one from another. He beckoned to the saloon-keeper.
"We could 'a' stopped that," he said, pointing toward the desert.
"Big bunch. One—two—three—six of 'em. Big bunch to come visitin' here."
Saunders gestured toward the cañon behind Gophertown.
The saloon-keeper shook his head. "Don't think most of our boys will be back this week. Brandin' that bunch of new stock. Takes time to do it right."
"Well, here comes Parks and Santa Fé Smith," said Saunders. "That makes four of us."
"Mebby—and mebby not," said the saloon-keeper. "That depends. Depends on the party that's callin' and who they're callin' on."
"There's Sago—just ridin' the ledge trail. That's five."
"'Lige and Joe Kennedy are up at the corrals," said the saloon-keeper. "They would hate to miss anything like this."