"What do I git out of it?"
"Why, the horse. Blake'll give you a hundred for that cayuse, if I am any judge of a good animal."
"He'll give me fifty, mebby. Blake ain't payin' too much for any hosses that I fetch in."
"Then I'll give you the other fifty and settle with Blake later."
"That goes, Spider."
The Spider and Malvey stepped out as Pete had it out with Blue Smoke in front of the saloon.
"We're ridin'," said Malvey, as Pete spurred his pony to the rail.
Pete leaned forward and offered his hand to The Spider. "I'll make this right with you," said Pete.
"Forget it," said The Spider.
Showdown dozed in the desert heat. The street was deserted. The Mexican who helped about the saloon was asleep in the patio. The Spider opened a new pack of cards, shuffled them, and began a game of solitaire. Occasionally he glanced out into the glare, blinking and muttering to himself. Malvey and Pete had been gone about an hour when a lean dog that had lain across from the hitching-rail, rose, shook himself, and turned to gaze up the street. The Spider called to the man in the patio. He came quickly. "I'm expecting visitors," said The Spider in Mexican. The other started toward the front doorway, but The Spider called him back with a word, and gestured to the door back of the bar—the doorway to The Spider's private room. The Mexican entered the room and closed the door softly, drew up a chair, and sat close to the door in the attitude of one who listens. Presently he heard the patter of hoofs, the grunt of horses pulled up sharply, and the tread of men entering the saloon. The Mexican drew his gun and rested his forearm across his knees, the gun hanging easily in his half-closed hand. He did not know who the men were nor how The Spider had known that they were coming. But he knew what was expected of him in case of trouble. The Spider sat directly across from the door behind the bar. Any one talking with him would be between him and the door.