The torrent of abuse died out in a crackle of curses. Terry Hollis stood as one stunned. Yet his hand stayed free of his gun.
"Suppose we go on to the hotel and eat?" he asked Jack Baldwin softly. "No use staying and letting that fellow deafen us with his oaths, is there?"
"Better than a circus," declared Baldwin. "Wouldn't miss it. Since old man Harkness died, I ain't heard cussing to match up with Larrimer's. Didn't know that he had that much brains."
It seemed that the fates were surely against Terry this day. Yet still he determined to dodge the issue. He started toward the door, taking care not to walk hastily enough to draw suspicion on him because of his withdrawal, but to the heated brain of Larrimer all things were suspicious. His long arm darted out as Terry passed him; he jerked the smaller man violently back.
"Wait a minute. I don't know you, kid. Maybe you got the information I want?"
"I'm afraid not."
Terry blinked. It seemed to him that if he looked again at that vicious, contracted face, his gun would slip into his hand of its own volition.
"Who are you?"
"A stranger in these parts," said Terry slowly, and he looked down at the floor.
He heard a murmur from the men at the other end of the room. He knew that small, buzzing sound. They were wondering at the calmness with which he "took water."