"He said that? He's a liar," Pinky said.
"I'll bring him in here. You can say it to his face."
"No chance of that," Madrid put in. "Hobson left town. Took the Ellensburg stage." The marshal swung away and idled over to a faro game.
Tesno eyed Pinky silently.
"Hobson lied," Pinky said desperately. "He must be covering for somebody else."
"You protest too much," Tesno said.
He caught Pinky by the hair, pulled him forward, and slapped him resoundingly on one cheek and then the other. He suddenly shoved him away and Pinky staggered into the back bar.
The customers watched in silence. Madrid made no move; he scarcely looked up from the faro game. Pinky glared, his face flushed. There would be a gun behind the bar somewhere, Tesno thought. But the saloonkeeper made no attempt to go for it. Tesno spun on his heel and walked out of the saloon. As he pushed through the swinging doors, there was a tide of low talk and uneasy laughter. A muffled comment met his ears:
"Damned high-handed troublebuster! Due for a takedown."
Loneliness stung him like a mountain wind as his bootheels drummed the boardwalk. Pinky had got off easy. Didn't the crowd understand that? The words Dave Coons had quoted rang in his memory: