No name had been signed. The old judge had received one that read the same as the first one Randall had received.
The road is open. This is your first warning.
It was evident that the gambling element of Turquoise City did not desire the continued presence of Judge Beal, although he had accomplished nothing against it.
He left the sheriff’s office and crossed the street to the front of the Black Horse Saloon, gambling-house and honkatonk, the largest building in Turquoise City. It was a huge, barn-like structure, not at all ornamental.
English Ed Holmes owned the place. He was an immaculate, cold-blooded gambler, a man of middle-age, and in a way very suave and handsome.
As the judge passed the Black Horse he met a cowboy, who flashed him a whitetoothed smile. It was Pete Conley, a half-breed cowboy, whose father, old Moses Conley, owned the Double Circle C, known as the Hot Creek ranch. Pete was about twenty-five years of age, more Indian than white.
“Hello, Peter,” said the judge kindly.
“Very good,” smiled Pete. “How you, Judge?”
“Nicely, thank you, Peter. Folks all well?”
“Pretty good; I buy you drink, Judge.” The old judge shook his head.