A nod of agreement.
"What's your price?"
"None."
"No price? Look here," argued Strann, "everything's got a price, and I got to have that hoss, understand? Got to! I ain't bargaining. I won't try to beat you down. You just set a figger and I'll cover it. I guess that's square!"
"He ain't a gentle hoss," said Barry. "Maybe you wouldn't like him."
"Oh, that's all right about being gentle," chuckled Strann. Then he checked his mirth and stared piercingly at the other to make out if there were a secret mockery. It could not, however, be possible. The eyes were as gravely apologetic as ever. He continued: "I seen the hell-fire in him. That's what stopped me like a bullet. I like 'em that way. Much rather have 'em with a fight. Well, let's have your price. Hey, O'Brien, trot out your red-eye; I'm going to do some business here!"
O'Brien came hastily, with drinks, and while they waited Strann queried politely: "Belong around these parts?"
"No," answered the other softly.
"No? Where you come from?"
"Over there," said Barry, and waved a graceful hand towards half the points of the compass.