At about nine o’clock Baldy Kern, Jack Baum, and Two-Fingers Kohler came into the Greenback Saloon. Baldy nodded to Hashknife as they came up to the bar, and Hashknife and Sleepy moved aside to give them more room.
The three men talked in an undertone, as they drank. It seemed that Baldy cautioned Kohler about something, and Hashknife heard Kohler reply angrily, “Oh, to hell with that Government spy.”
Hashknife wondered who Kohler meant, until he saw Jack Baum flash a sidewise look at him, and then he realized that possibly they were talking about him. It was sufficient to put him on his guard.
Baldy turned from the bar and scanned the room. Torres was at the roulette wheel, facing Baldy, but seemingly absorbed in the game. Baldy turned his head slightly toward Baum and spoke guardedly, but too softly for Hashknife to hear what he said.
Then he moved away from the bar, stopped for a moment at the poker table to speak to someone in the game, and sauntered toward the roulette wheel. Baum and Kohler moved away from the bar, keeping their eyes on Baldy.
“Look out,” whispered Hashknife. “Somethin’ is due to break.”
Baldy was only ten feet from Torres now, and they were looking at each other. The dealer called the winning number, but Torres did not look down at the table.
“You dirty Mexican!” snapped Baldy. “You killed Sam Blair!”
As Baldy spat his accusation he whipped out his gun. Baldy was fast on the draw, as deadly as a striking rattlesnake. But before he could pull the trigger the light flashed on a spinning knife-blade, which Garcia had thrown from beside the wall, and Baldy’s wrist was pierced just above the joint.
His hand splayed open and the heavy gun clanged to the floor as he jerked back, throwing up his wounded arm.