“Could you see who he was?”
“Sure. Guess.”
“I can’t.”
“It was the Bronco Kid.”
“Lord!” ejaculated Glenister. “Do you think he’s after me?”
“He ain’t after nobody else, an’, take my word for it, it’s got nothin’ to do with McNamara nor that gamblin’ row. He’s too game for that. There’s some other reason.”
This was the first mention Dextry had made of the night at the Northern.
“I don’t know why he should have it in for me—I never did him any favors,” Glenister remarked, cynically.
“Well, you watch out, anyhow. I’d sooner face McNamara an’ all the crooks he can hire than that gambler.”
During the next few days Roy undertook to meet the proprietor of the Northern face to face, but the Kid had vanished completely from his haunts. He was not in his gambling-hall at night nor on the street by day. The young man was still looking for him on the evening of the dance at the hotel, when he chanced to meet one of the Vigilantes, who inquired of him: