"Not dead!" exclaimed Clanton. "Did you say he wasn't dead?"
"Now, don't you worry about that," cautioned Prince. "Looks to me like you sure got him. Anyhow, it ain't your fault. You were that quiet and game and cool. I never saw the beat."
The admiration of his partner did not comfort Jim. He was suspiciously near a breakdown. "Why didn't I take another crack at him when I had the chance?" he whimpered. "I been waitin' all these years, an' now—"
"I tell you he hasn't a chance in a thousand, Jim. You did the job thorough. He's got his,"
Prince had been intending to say more, but he changed his mind. Half a dozen men were coming toward them from the front door. Buck Sanders was one of them, Quantrell's trooper another. Their manner looked like business.
Sanders was the spokesman. "You boys ride for the Flying V Y, don't you?" he asked curtly.
"We do," answered Billie, and his voice was just as cold. It had in it the snap of a whiplash.
"You came in here to pick trouble with us. Your pardner—Clanton, whatever his name is—gave it out straight that he was goin' to kill Roush."
"He didn't mention you, did he?"
"The Roush brothers were in our party. We ride for the Lazy S M. We don't make distinctions."