The news was over San Pasqual in an hour, and formed the basis of much discussion in the Silver Dollar when Borax Somebody hailed him.
“Well, Borax, I see you're goin' to play even. D'ye think you'll be able to oust the girl from the Hat Ranch? The boys have been discussin' it, and it looks like she might put up a fight on squatter's rights.”
“I'll git her out all right” rumbled O'Rourke, “an' when I do, I'll chuck the old lady's bones after her. I'll teach her an' that Indian o' hers—”
Borax O'Rourke paused. His tongue clicked drily against the roof of his mouth.
Seated at a card-table across the room, idly shuffling a deck of cards, sat Harley P. Hennage, and he was staring at Borax O'Rourke. At the latter's sudden pause, a silence fell upon the Silver Dollar, and every man lined up at the long bar turned and followed O'Rourke's glance.
For fully a minute Mr. Hennage's small baleful eyes flicked murder lights as their glance burned into O'Rourke's wolfish soul. Then, quite calmly, he commenced placing his cards for a game of solitaire, and when he had carefully disposed of them he spoke:
“O'Rourke!”
The word was deep, throaty, almost a growl. Simultaneously the men nearest O'Rourke drifted quickly away from him.
“Well?”
“I don't like your game. Stop it. Hand me an assignment o' that desert entry o' yours by three o'clock, an' get out o' town by four o'clock. Hear me?”