“All right.”
Macfarlan came in hurriedly and stopped short—seeing the hatted, bearded giant.
“This is Mr. Tolliver—an uncle of Dave's—Judd Tolliver,” said Hale. “Go ahead.”
“I've got everything fixed—but I couldn't get but five of the fellows—two of the Berkley boys. They wouldn't let me tell Bob.”
“All right. Can I summon Mr. Tolliver here?”
“Yes,” said Macfarlan doubtfully, “but you know—-”
“He won't be seen,” interrupted Hale, understandingly. “He'll be at a window in the back of that store and he won't take part unless a fight begins, and if it does, we'll need him.”
An hour later Devil Judd Tolliver was in the store Hale pointed out and peering cautiously around the edge of an open window at the wooden gate of the ramshackle calaboose. Several Falins were there—led by young Buck, whom Hale recognized as the red-headed youth at the head of the tearing horsemen who had swept by him that late afternoon when he was coming back from his first trip to Lonesome Cove. The old man gritted his teeth as he looked and he put one of his huge pistols on a table within easy reach and kept the other clenched in his right fist. From down the street came five horsemen, led by John Hale. Every man carried a double-barrelled shotgun, and the old man smiled and his respect for Hale rose higher, high as it already was, for nobody—mountaineer or not—has love for a hostile shotgun. The Falins, armed only with pistols, drew near.
“Keep back!” he heard Hale say calmly, and they stopped—young Buck alone going on.
“We want that feller,” said young Buck.