"No doubt of it," smiled Anthony. "I presume it would take a very hard man to handle this crowd."
"Fairly hard," nodded the redoubtable Lawlor, "but they ain't nothin' to the men that used to ride the range in the old days."
"No?"
"Nope. One of them men—why, he'd eat a dozen like Kilrain and think nothin' of it. Them was the sort I learned to ride the range with."
"I've heard something about a fight which you and John Bard had against the Piotto gang. Care to tell me anything of it?"
Lawlor lolled easily back in his chair and balanced a second large drink between thumb and forefinger.
"There ain't no harm in talk, son; sure I'll tell you about it. What d'you want to know?"
"The way Bard fought—the way you both fought."
"Lemme see."
He closed his eyes like one who strives to recollect; he was, in fact, carefully recalling the skeleton of facts which Drew had told him earlier in the day.