"Dinner!" called Mrs. Burr, sticking her head out of the kitchen door a moment later. "Why, where's Tom Loudon?"
"He's gone away," grumbled her husband, regretfully eying his shotgun.
"Well, of all things! Just as dinner's ready! Don't he know he's eatin' here? Will he be gone long?"
"He may not be away twenty minutes, and then, on the otheh hand, he may neveh retuhn."
"Never return! What are you talkin' about, Benjamin Burr?"
"Wait and see, my love, wait and see," rejoined the Captain, and went in to dinner.
Loudon, meanwhile, had galloped down to the corner of Main Street. Rufe Cutting was not in sight. But his horse was standing among the horses in front of the Jacks Up Saloon. Loudon rode across the street and dismounted behind a freighter's wagon near the Chicago Store, where he could not be observed from the windows of the Jacks Up. Then he walked briskly up the street and entered the saloon.
Rufe Cutting, his scratched features cast in sullen lines, was drinking at the bar. So were several other men. A knot of citizens in Cutting's immediate rear were discussing the events of the morning. Two faro tables were crowded. The Jacks Up was in full blast. With the place crowded a gun-play was apt to result in damage to the bystanders.
However, the choice lay with Cutting. Loudon would allow the first move.
With this intention, Loudon edged up to the bar and called for a drink. At the sound of his voice Cutting turned a slow head. There were two men in between, but they were not standing close to the bar.