He was now dealing, his eyes on the cards, so that he missed the embarrassment in the faces of those about him.
“On Thursday, the first day the law allows,” Cullison answered quietly.
Flandrau chuckled. “I reckon Cass Fendrick will be some sore.”
“I expect.” Cullison’s gaze met coolly the black, wrathful eyes of the man who had just come in.
“Sort of put a crimp in his notions when you took up the cañon draw,” Flandrau surmised.
Something in the strained silence struck the dealer as unusual. He looked up, and showed a momentary confusion.
“Didn’t know you were there, Cass. Looks like I put my foot in it sure that time. I ce’tainly thought you were an absentee,” he apologized.
“Or you wouldn’t have been talking about me,” retorted Fendrick acidly. The words were flung at Flandrau, but plainly they were meant as a challenge for Cullison.
A bearded man, the oldest in the party, cut in with good-natured reproof. “I shouldn’t wonder, Cass, but your name is liable to be mentioned just like that of any other man.”
“Didn’t know you were in this, Yesler,” Fendrick drawled insolently.