How long Rook had known of it Annister could not be certain, but now, at the growling chorus of swift hate, he whirled. His pistol came up and out, as there came a startling interruption, or rather, two.
He heard Ellison’s voice, roaring in the narrow room:
“Hell’s bells, young fellow, I’m with you, and you can lay to that! For this once, anyway! You sure can handle yourself!”
He turned to Rook and the rest. “Now—you bums, get goin’! Dick or no dick, I’ll play this hand as she lays. Get goin’!”
The great hand, holding a heavy Colt, swung upward on a line with Annister’s as the door burst inward with a crash; and, framed in the opening, there showed on a sudden the flaming thatch of the bartender, Del Kane.
His cowboy yell echoed throughout the room, eyes blazing upon the hotel man where he sat.
In two strides, he had joined Annister and Bull; guns on a line, the three fronted the five who faced them, silent, tense. Kane’s voice came clear:
“I followed you, Mr. Annister; thought they’d try t’ run a whizzer on yuh; I’m pullin’ m’ freight after today, anyway; Mister Lunn can have his job, an’ welcome! Now—I ben keepin’ cases on Mister Rook, he’s a curly wolf, ain’t you, Rook? A real bad hombre, an’ you can lay to that! But he ain’t goin’ northwest of nothin’, he ain’t.... Now, you dam’ short-horns, show some speed!”
But there was no fight in Rook, Lunn and Company. Glowering, their hands in plain sight, weaponless, they sat in a sullen silence, as Annister, backing to the doorway, was followed by Ellison and Kane. Outside, under pale stars, the giant spoke:
“I don’t aim to be too all-fired honest, Mister Annister,” he said. “I throwed in with Mister Rook, that’s so, but he’s played it both ends against the middle with me, I guess.... I reckon I’ll be movin’ out o’ Dry Bone in two—three hours.”