He was a big, broad-shouldered fellow, hook-nosed, with cold eyes set close. Hair and eyebrows were matted with ice and a coat of sleet covered his clothes. Judging from voice and manner, he was in a vile humor.
A young fellow standing near was leaning with his back against the bar, elbows resting on it. One heel was hooked casually over the rail.
“Anything been seen of a strange girl in town to-night?” the newcomer asked. “She ain’t right in her head an’ I was takin’ her to her dad’s place when she slipped away. I’m worried about her, out in this storm.”
The cowpuncher looked at him coldly, eye to eye. “I’d say you got a license to be. If she’s lost out to-night she’s liable to be frozen to death before mo’ning.”
“Yes,” agreed Houck, and his lids narrowed. What did this young fellow mean? There was something about his manner both strange and challenging. If he was looking for a fight, Houck knew just where he could be accommodated.
“In which case—”
The puncher stopped significantly.
“In which case—?” Houck prompted.
“—it might be unlucky for the guy that took her out an’ lost her.”
“What’s yore name, fellow?” Jake demanded.