"Since last night."
"Then," said Drew, "he's already dead. He doesn't know the mountains."
"I give Nash strict orders not to do nothin' but apprehend Bard."
"Don't talk, Glendin. It disgusts me—makes my flesh crawl. He's alone, with seven cutthroats against him."
"Not alone. Sally Fortune's better'n two common men."
"The girl? God bless her! She's with him; she knows the country. There may be a hope; Glendin, if you're wise, start praying now that I find Bard alive. If I don't—"
The swinging doors closed behind him as he rushed through toward his horse. Glendin stood dazed, his face mottled with a sick pallor. Then he moved automatically toward the bar. Murphy hobbled down the length of the room on his wooden leg and placed bottle and glass before the deputy.
"Well?" he queried.
Glendin poured his drink with a shaking hand, spilling much liquor across the varnished wood. He drained his glass at a gulp.
"I dunno; what d'you think, Murphy?"