“You billin’ the town for a circus, Kid?” he asked, his fat paunch shaking. And when Hugh had stepped forward to him he added a warning in a lower voice: “Dutch is waitin’ for you in front of Dodsons’ store; least, it looks to me like he’s aimin’ to call yore hand.”
“Any one with him?”
“Hopkins and Bob Dodson. I kinda figured they were lookout men for him. Say, you don’t have to play a lone hand. I’d as lief sit in. Byers, too.”
“No, Jim. My hand’s stronger if I play it alone. Much obliged, just the same.”
Budd conceded this as a matter of principle, but he was reluctant to do so in practice. “Well, don’t you get careless, Kid. Dutch is sudden death with a gun. Sure is.”
Opposite Dodson & Dodson’s Emporium was the Mammoth Saloon.
“Tack one on the door, Uncle Ned,” said Hugh.
McClintock spoke without looking at the bill sticker. He was watching three men standing in front of the store opposite. One of these hastily retreated inside. The two who remained were Dutch and Hopkins.
The killer growled a warning. “Lay off on that bill stickin’. It don’t go here.”
Hugh stepped across the street. He moved evenly and without haste. “Well, well, if it ain’t Sam Dutch, chief of Virginia and Aurora, just as big as life and as handsome. Lemme see, you were takin’ the Candelabria stage last time I saw you.” Smilingly the young man began to hum, “Git out de way, ole Dan Tucker.” But the smile was of the lips only. His steely eyes held those of the big ruffian fast.