"No, no, Tom, no fancy shootin' at de elbow," exclaimed Laguerre in alarm. "Geet hees hair."
"You just wait. C'mon."
CHAPTER XX
THE RAILROAD CORRAL
Loudon stepped out into the street. Laguerre stationed himself on the sidewalk twenty yards in Loudon's rear. Every window and doorway giving a view of the scene of hostilities was crowded with spectators. On the sidewalk, fifty yards from the hotel, stood Judge Allison, watch in hand.
Loudon stood, one leg thrust slightly forward, his eyes on the dance-hall door, and his cocked rifle in the hollow of his left arm.
Not for an instant did he fear the outcome. His self-confidence was supreme. Oddly enough, his mind refused to dwell on the impending duel. He could think of nothing save the most trivial subjects till Luke Maxson stepped out of the dance-hall doorway.
Then a prickling twitched the skin between Loudon's shoulders, and he experienced a curious species of exhilaration. It reminded him of a long-ago evening in Fort Worth when he had drunk a bottle of champagne. The exhilaration vanished in a breath. Remained a calculating coldness and the pleasing knowledge that Luke Maxson was still excited.
Bang! The Judge's six-shooter spoke. Instantly the upper half of Maxson's figure was hidden by a cloud of smoke.