“So I sent Vic away before he had a chance to get real nervous. But when he comes back—well, boys, it'll be kind of amusin' to watch Vic's face when he saunters into town tomorrow and sees Dan Barry—maybe dead, maybe in the irons. Eh?”
Only a deep silence answered him, but in the interest which his words excited the terror seemed to have left Ronicky and Gus. They rode close, their heads toward Sliver alone.
“There goes Vic,” mused Sliver. “There he goes—go on. Mac, you old fool!—scared to death, ridin' for his life. And why? Because he believes some ghost stories he's heard about Dan Barry!”
“Ghost stories?” echoed Reeve. “Some of 'em ain't fairy tales, Sliver.”
“Jest name one that ain't!”
“Well, the way he trailed Jim Silent. We've all heard of Silent, and Barry—was too good for him.”
“Bah,” sneered Sliver. “Too good for Silent? Ye lied readily enough: booze done for Silent long before Barry come along.”
“That right?”
“I'll tell a man it is. Mind you, I don't say Barry ain't handy with his gun; but he's done a little and the gents have furnished the trimmin's. Look here, if Barry is the man-eater they say, why did he pick a time for comin' down when the sheriff was out of town?”
“By God!” exclaimed Ronicky. “I never thought of that!”