Below, the outlaws moved here and there.
“Billy!” shouted a commanding voice, “Billy Knapp!”
The hotel-keeper looked perplexed.
“Now, what’s he tollin’ me for?” he asked of the man by his side.
“Billy!” shouted the voice again, “come down here, you Siwash. I want to palaver with you.”
“All right, Hank,” replied Billy.
He went to his “room,” and buckled on a heavy belt; then descended the steep stairs. The barroom was lighted and filled with men. Some of them were drinking and eating; others were strapping provisions into portable form. Against the corner of the bar a tall figure of a man leaned smoking—a man lithe, active, and muscular, with a keen dark face, and black eyebrows which met over his nose. Billy walked silently to this man.
“What is it?” he asked, shortly. “This yere ain’t in th’ agreement.”
“I know that,” replied the stranger.
“Then leave yore dust and vamoose.”