Most of the citizens they met regarded Loudon with noncommittal eyes, but a few of the glances were frankly unfriendly. The two men entered the Happy Heart Saloon, there being sounds of revelry within.
On a table sat the Sheriff of Sunset County. He was heartily applauding the efforts of a perspiring gentleman who was dancing a jig. Loudon perceived that the sheriff, while not precisely drunk, was yet not sober. His gestures were free and his language freer.
There were at least a score of men in the saloon, and they were all Block's close friends. They muttered among themselves at Loudon's entrance. The story of Block's tarring and feathering had lost nothing in transmission.
Loudon and Laguerre made their way to the far end of the bar and ordered drinks. With the wall at their backs they were reasonably secure from treachery. The Sheriff of Sunset nodded to the two men from the Bend and continued to shout encouragement to the jigging citizen. Finally, the dancer succumbed to exhaustion. The sheriff slid from the table.
"Well, I got to be wrigglin' along," he said. "See yuh later."
"Not yet, Sheriff, not yet," protested a tall man with wolfish features. "Have another drink first. Just one. Step up, gents, step up. Name yore poison."
"No, not another one," said the sheriff, but his tone lacked conviction.
He had another, two in fact. Again he started for the door. But the wolf-faced man barred the way.
"Sheriff," he wheedled, "what yuh say to a little game? Just one little game. Only one. Yuh can't be in such a all-fired hurry yuh can't stop for just one."
"I got to get Rufe Cutting," said the sheriff. "I ain't got no time for poker."