He fell to his meal eagerly, for he had had nothing to eat since early morning when he had broken camp high in the mountains to westward. Steak and French “fries” began quickly to disappear, along with many slices of bread and two cups of steaming coffee. Then Rathburn looked up, and to his surprise saw that the tall, dark man was standing near the glass, studying him intently out of scowling, black eyes.
Rathburn looked at him coolly and steadily for a few moments and resumed his meal. But the other was inquisitive and Rathburn sensed, without again looking up, that he was being watched. Was this man, then, an aide of Mannix, the deputy? He doubted it.
He finished his meal, paid his score with an added cheery word for the counter jumper, rose, entered the main room of the resort, and walked directly up to the dark man who still was observing him.
“Was you thinking I was an old acquaintance of yours?” he asked pleasantly.
The other’s eyes narrowed, and Rathburn thought he detected a glow of recognition and satisfaction.
“Did you have your bath?” sneeringly inquired the man.
Rathburn’s brows lifted. Then he smiled queerly. “I sure did. Why? Did I maybe keep you waiting? Was you next?”
The other’s eyes blazed with wrath. “Let me give you a tip, my friend; you ain’t right well acquainted in this here locality, are you?”
Rathburn now noted that they had attracted immediate attention. The tall, dark man, then, was a personage of importance. He noted another thing, 112 too––rather, he realized it by instinct as well as by certain mannerisms. The man before him knew how to use the weapon which hung low on his right thigh.
“If you mean was I born here, or do I live here, I’d say no,” Rathburn drawled; “but I happen to be here at this precise time so I’d say I’m right well acquainted with it.”