They did not.
“They's something queer about him,” muttered the deputy.
“He may be word-shy,” proffered a wit, “but he sure ain't gun-shy!”
“When he looked at me,” said the deputy, more to himself than to the others, “it seemed to me like they was a swirl of yaller come into his eyes. Made me feel like some one had sneaked up behind me with a knife.”
In his thoughtfulness his eyes wandered, and wandering, they fell upon the notice of the reward for the capture, dead or alive, of Daniel Barry, about five feet nine or ten, slender, with black hair and brown eyes.
“My God!” cried the deputy.
But then he relaxed against the counter.
“It ain't possible,” he murmured.
“What ain't possible?”
“However, I'm goin' to go and hang around. Gents, I got a crazy idea.”