Bucky remained quietly in the corner of the room back of the door until the showman had entered, and while the latter was meeting Collins he silently locked the door and pocketed the key.
The sheriff acknowledged Hardman’s condescension brusquely and without shaking hands. “Glad to meet you, seh. But you’re mistaken in one thing. I’m not your host. This gentleman behind you is.”
The man turned and saw Bucky, who was standing with his back against the door, a bland smile on his face.
“Yes, seh. I’m your host to-night. Sheriff Collins, hyer, is another guest. I’m glad to have the pleasure of entertaining you, Signor Raffaello Cavellado,” Bucky assured him, in his slow, gentle drawl, without reassuring him at all.
For the fellow was plainly disconcerted at recognition of his host. He turned with a show of firmness to Collins. “If you’re a sheriff, I demand to have that door opened at once,” he blustered.
Val put his hands in his pockets and tipped back his chair. “I ain’t sheriff of Hualpai County. My jurisdiction don’t extend here,” he said calmly.
“I’m an unarmed man,” pleaded Cavellado.
“Come to think of it, so am I.”
“I reckon I’m holding all the aces, Signor Cavellado,” explained the ranger affably. “Or do you prefer in private life to be addressed as Hardman—or, say, Anderson?”
The showman moistened his lips and offered his tormentor a blanched face.