Again that anxious look flashed round in the dusk. “The Bannister outfit is the worst in the land. Ned Bannister is king of the whole Big Horn country and beyond that to the Tetons.”
“And you mean to tell me that everybody is afraid of him—that men like Mr. Sothern dare not say their soul is their own?” the newcomer asked, contemptuously.
“Not so loud, child. He has spies everywhere That’s the trouble. You don’t know who is in with him. He’s got the whole region terrified.”
“Is he so bad?”
“He is a devil. Last year he and his hell riders swept down on Topaz and killed two bartenders just to see them kick, Ned Bannister said. Folks allow they knew too much.”
“But the law—the Government? Haven’t you a sheriff and officers?”
“Bannister has. He elects the sheriff in this county.”
“Aren’t there more honest people here than villains?”
“Ten times as many, but the trouble is that the honest folks can’t trust each other. You see, if one of them made a mistake and confided in the wrong man—well, some fine day he would go riding herd and would not turn up at night. Next week, or next month, maybe, one of his partners might find a pile of bones in an arroyo.
“Have you ever seen this Bannister?”