“That gang over there will take stolen cattle, that’s a cinch,” said Jackson. “You’d never get any evidence if yuh went there in a gang—and one or two men would soon be wiped out. They’re pretty clannish.”
Reber nodded slowly. He knew Jackson was right. Suddenly there came the slither of a moving body, and they turned toward the big window about ten feet beyond them. Just inside the window stood Jack Silver, his left shoulder resting against the wall, his two thumbs hooked over his belt.
For several moments no one spoke. Silver laughed, and his teeth flashed white in the light from the hanging lamp in the center of the room. He seemed to be resting lazily against that shoulder, but every man at that table knew he could draw and shoot quicker than any of them.
“Gentlemen, Mr. Silver himself,” said Reber slowly.
The men glanced at Reber curiously, but turned back to Silver.
“You sent for me,” said Jack.
Reber nodded.
“Yeah, I sent for yuh, Silver. Slim, will you get a chair for Mr. Silver?”
Slim Patterson started to get up, but Silver halted him.
“I’ll stand up,” he said slowly, smiling again. “Since when did the Reber outfits start havin’ squaws at their council?”