"Guess we'll have a drink—and talk later," said Houck. The Spider glanced up from his card-game, and nodded casually.
The sound of shuffling feet, and the Mexican knew that the strangers were facing the bar. He softly holstered his gun. While he could not understand English, he knew by the tone of the conversation that these men were not the enemies of his weazened master.
"Seen anything of a kind of dark-complected young fella wearin' a black Stetson and ridin' a blue roan?" queried Houck.
"Where was he from?" countered The Spider.
"The Concho, and ridin' a hoss with the Concho brand."
"Wanted bad?"
"Yes—a whole lot. He shot Steve Gary yesterday."
"Gary of the T-Bar-T?"
"The same—and a friend of mine," interpolated the cowboy Simpson.
"Huh! You say he's young—just a kid?"