"Come on, then," and Sneed indicated Posmo.
"And don't make any mistakes," threatened Lawson, riding close to the Mexican. "If you do--you won't last."
Posmo had not counted on this turn of affairs. He had supposed that his news would send Sneed and his men in to have it out with Panhandle, or that one of them would ride in and persuade Panhandle to join them. But he now knew that he would have to ride with Sneed, or he would be suspected of double-dealing.
At the fork of the road leading into Phoenix, Sneed reined in. "We're ridin' tired horses, boys. And we ain't lookin' for trouble. All we want is Panhandle. We'll get him."
Sitting his big horse like a statue, his club foot concealed by the long tapadero, his physical being dominating his followers, Sneed headed the group that rode slowly down the long open stretch bordering on the east of the town. They entered town quietly and stopped a few doors below the lighted front of the Hole-in-the-Wall.
"Just step in and tell Panhandle I want to see him," and Sneed indicated one of his riders.
The man went in and came out again with the information that Panhandle had left the saloon about an hour ago; that he had told the bartender he was going out to get some money and come back and play the wheel.
"Get on your horse," said Sneed, who had been gazing up the street while listening to the other. "Here comes Panhandle now. I'll do the talking."