“Hello, Texas! Can't say, I'm sure. Just dropped in to see what's doing.”
Steve's admiring gaze approved him a man from the ground up. But the ranger only laughed and said: “The band's going to play a right lively tune, looks like.”
The man from the Panhandle had his revolvers out already. “Yes, there will be a hot time in the old town to-night, I shouldn't wonder.”
But for the moment the attackers were inclined to parley. Their leader stepped out and held up a hand for a suspension of hostilities. He was a large man, heavily built, and powerful as a bear. There was about him an air of authority, as of one used to being obeyed. He was dressed roughly enough in corduroy and miner's half-leg boots, but these were of the most expensive material and cut. His cold gray eye and thin lips denied the manner of superficial heartiness he habitually carried. If one scratched the veneer of good nature it was to find a hard selfishness that went to his core.
“It's Mr. Dunke!” the young school-teacher cried aloud in surprise.
“I've got something to say to you, Mr. Lieutenant Ranger,” he announced, with importance.
“Uncork it,” was Fraser's advice.
“We don't want to have any trouble with you, but we're here for business. This man is a cold-blooded murderer and we mean to do justice on him.”
Steve laughed insolently. “If all them that hollers for justice the loudest got it done to them, Mr. Dunke, there'd be a right smart shrinkage in the census returns.”
Dunke's eye gleamed with anger. “We're not here to listen to any smart guys, sir. Will you give up Struve to us or will you not?”