“Well, Manley, what can I do for you?� he asked in a surly voice. Bardwell Manley was no favorite with the Rimor outfit.
“You might do a whole lot,� Mr. Manley replied slowly. “Then, again, you might not. You know a puncher who hangs around here with a checkered shirt?�
“Do I know a puncher who hangs around here with a checkered shirt?� the barkeeper repeated. “Well, now, I can’t say that I do. There’s plenty of punchers that come in here, but I never knew one yet that hung around with a checkered shirt. Sure it’s the puncher, and not a collar that you’re lookin’ for?�
Mr. Manley flushed beneath his tan, but he held himself in check.
“I guess you know right enough what I mean,� he said genially. “So you ain’t seen him, hey?�
“No, I ain’t,� the man replied, with an accent of irony on the last word. He resumed his reading.
Mr. Manley stood for a moment looking down at the hunched figure before him. He tightened his jaw, and little knobs of muscles showed just below his ears. To those who knew Bardwell Manley, this was a sign not to be ignored.
“Mind if I take a look around?� the cattleman said easily.
“Nope! Go as far as you like.� The barkeeper did not look up.
Mr. Manley walked toward the rear of the place. As he did so, a man stepped from a side door and confronted him. It was the cowboy in the checkered shirt.