"Red helped Kennedy out of a mix once. Kennedy is his friend."
"But Joe ain't here. What's gettin' into you? How do you know it is Red, anyway? You act queer."
"I got a hunch," said Saunders.
"Then you want to go into action quick, for when a gunman gets a hunch that he knows who is trailin' him, it's a bad sign."
Saunders drummed on the table with his fingers. The drink of liquor had restored his nerve. Perhaps the riders were not coming to visit him, after all. He rose and stepped to the door. The oncoming horses were near enough for him to distinguish the roan outlaw Yuma—Collie's horse. Her rider's figure was only too familiar. Saunders fingered his belt. Unbuckling it, he stepped back into the barroom and laid the two-holstered guns and the belt on the table.
Parks, from up in the cañon, rode up, tied his pony, and strolled to the bar, nodding to Saunders. Following him came Santa Fé Smith, a bow-legged individual in sweater and blue jeans. He nodded to Saunders. Presently Sago, the Inyo County outlaw, came in, wheezing and perspiring. Saunders stepped to the bar and called for "one all around."
As they drank two more ponies clattered up and 'Lige and Joe Kennedy joined the group at the bar. "Hutch and Simpson are comin' afoot," said Joe Kennedy.
"That leaves Wagner and the Chink to hear from," said the saloon-keeper.
"Wagner's sick. I don't know where the Chink is. Everybody seems to 'a' got up in time for dinner, this mornin', eh?" And big Joe Kennedy laughed. "This here bar is right popular jest now."
"Goin' to be more popular," said the saloon-keeper.