“Figure it up, and it makes a right good week’s work. I reckon I’ll go down to Chihuahua and break the bank at Miguel’s,” one of them was saying.
“Better go to Yuma and break stones for a spell, Buck,” suggested a voice from the doorway.
Both men slewed their heads around as if they had been worked by the same lever. Their mouths opened, and their eyes bulged. A shining revolver covered them competently.
“Now, don’t you, Buck—nor you either, Tom!” This advice because of a tentative movement each had made with his right hand. “I’m awful careless about spilling lead, when I get excited. Better reach for the roof; then you won’t have any temptations to suicide.”
The hard eyes of the outlaws swept swiftly over the cattleman. Had he shown any sign of indecision, they would have taken a chance and shot it out. But he was so easily master of himself that the impulse to “draw” died stillborn.
Bellamy gave a sharp, shrill whistle. Footsteps came pounding across the open, and three armed men showed at the door.
“Darn my skin if the old son of a gun hasn’t hogged all the glory!” Bob Farnum complained joyfully. “Won’t you introduce us to your friends, Bellamy?” 329
“This gentleman with the biscuit in his hand is Buck; the one so partial to porterhouse steak is Tom,” returned Bellamy gravely.
“Glad to death to meet you, gents. Your hands seem so busy drilling for the ceiling, we won’t shake right now. If it would be any kindness to you, I’ll unload all this hardware, though. My! You tote enough with you to start a store, boys.”
“How did you find your way in?” growled Buck.