‘Give me the gun,’ said Rex. ‘I can bluff with it.’
‘But he must know it is empty, Rex.’
‘If he did—why was he carrying it? You try and get a little sleep, Nan; I’ll watch him. If he wasn’t born in this cañon, there must be a way out, and we’ll find it. That meat don’t make a very pleasant odor, does it?’
‘He was cooking it for me,’ said Nan. ‘He said it was horse meat. He picked it up off the dirty floor and threw it on the fire—for my supper.’
‘He may be hungry when he wakes up,’ grinned Rex.
It was well after midnight when Hashknife and the sheriff reached Mesa City. The town was in darkness, except the Oasis saloon, where they found only Dave Morgan and Jack Fairweather, discussing business, while the bartender rested his elbows on the bar as he perused a dog-eared book.
Morgan welcomed the newcomers heartily.
‘C’mon and have a drink. You fellers ridin’ kinda late, ain’t yuh?’
‘Kinda,’ admitted Lem, as they lined up at the bar. ‘What’s new, Dave?’
‘Nothin’ much. I’m takin’ over this saloon, Lem.’