Silver City lay at the base of two great mountain ranges.
It was, like most mining towns of that time, filled with a floating population of gamblers, prospectors, miners and bad men. However, a semblance of law and order had been established by the new sheriff, Ben Teall, whose courage and quickness on the trigger had gained for him no little respect among the gun-toters of that rough country. Some who had doubted both these qualities, were now occupying six-foot claims in Silver City's graveyard.
Ben never pulled a trigger unless convinced that his own life was in danger, and then he shot to kill. The fact that he still lived was evidence that he had never yet failed of accomplishing that much desired result.
Bill was standing back to the bar in the Golden Arrow saloon one evening two days after Jesse and his companions had departed from the cabin of the rancher, headed for Silver City.
The green baize door that was the pride of the Golden Arrow, swung in and two strangers entered, who attracted Ben's attention instantly. They were well set up, sharp-featured and clear-eyed fellows, and though there was nothing about their dress to distinguish them from the other habitues of the place, Ben mentally put them down as secret service men; but what mission they could possibly be bent on there, he could not understand.
The two sat down at a table and ordered whiskey with "rain water" on the side, and the keen-eyed sheriff noted that while they only took one sip of the fire-water, they took down the "rain water" with evident satisfaction. The rest of the whisky was dumped onto the floor. All this he noted under half-closed eyelids.
"If they ain't service men, they'll bear watching," was his comment.
After a little the newcomers and the sheriff's eyes met, and each saw in the other something of interest.
"That's the sheriff over there sizing us up, or I'm a goat," mumbled Jesse to his companion, who was none other than his elder brother.