Billy Unguin winked significantly at O’Brien and glanced at Charlie.
“Queer cuss,” he said, under his breath. Then he turned to Allen Dy, as though imparting news: “Drinks alone—always alone.”
Dy nodded comprehendingly.
“Sure sign of a drunkard,” he returned wisely, in a similar undertone.
O’Brien smiled. He was about to give vent to one of his coldest cynicisms, when Nick Devereux looked over from the card table and claimed him.
“Say, Dirty,” he drawled, in his rather musical southern accent, “wher’ in hell is Fyles located anyhow? There’s been a mighty piece of big talk goin’ on, but none of us ain’t seen him. Big talk makes me sick.” He spat on the floor as though to emphasize his disgust.
“He’s around anyways,” O’Brien returned coldly. “I’ve seen him right here. After that he rode east. One of the boys see him pick up Sergeant McBain an’ two troopers. Will that do you?” he inquired sarcastically.
Nick picked up a fresh hand of cards.
“Have to—till I see him,” he said savagely.
“Oh, you’ll see him all right—all right,” O’Brien returned with a laugh, while the men at the bar grinned over at the card players. “Guess you boys’ll see him later—all you need.” Then his eyes flashed in Charlie’s direction, and he winked at those near him. “Maybe some folks around here’ll hate the sight of him before long.”