"Johnny Ramsay o' the Cross-in-a-box an' Chuck Morgan o' the Bar S."
"'Chuck Morgan.' Well do I know the gentleman. I fined him twenty-five dollars last fall for riding his horse into Billy West's saloon, roping the stove, and trying to drag it through the doorway."
"That's Chuck all over! But he didn't tell the Bar S nothin' about a fine."
"The Bar S! What are you talking about? You're from the southern ranges, and I'd advise you not to forget it."
"I won't again," Loudon grinned. "So long, Judge, an' we're obliged to yuh for——"
"For nothing! For nothing! And don't forget that either. Now good-bye and good luck."
Loudon and Laguerre, having paid their bill, left the hotel by the back way. A pale little man, one of the dance-hall fiddlers, was flirting with the cook at the kitchen doorway. When the two men appeared, carrying their saddles and rifles, the pale one glided swiftly around the corner of the house.
"See that?" muttered Loudon, cinching up rapidly.
Laguerre nodded.
"—— 'em!" he whispered. "Hope dey follow! By Gar! I do, me!"