"That's good o' yuh. But I ain't lookin' for yuh, not yet."
"I'm right glad to hear that. Them little birds must 'a' lied. Powerful lot o' lyin' goin' on in the world, ain't there?"
"I dunno nothin' about it," mumbled the sheriff, who was becoming more and more puzzled at the apparently aimless words of the puncher.
"Don't yuh?" grinned Loudon. "That's shore hard to believe."
The sheriff warily refused to take offence, and mumbled unintelligibly.
"Forget that afternoon in the draw west o' Little Bear Mountain?" relentlessly pursued Loudon. "We had some words—remember? Yuh said somethin' about me havin' the drop. I ain't got the drop now. My hands are on the horn. Yore's are hooked in yore belt. But I'll lay yuh two to one I bust yuh plumb centre before yuh can pull. Take me up?"
Loudon's lips were smiling, but his eyes stared with a disconcerting gray chilliness into the small black eyes of Sheriff Block. The officer's eyelids wavered, winked, and Block shifted his gaze to Loudon's chin.
"I ain't startin' no gun-play for nothin'," said Block with finality.
Loudon held up a ten-dollar gold piece.
"Two to one," he urged.