Duane looked at Bland as he had at the others. This outlaw chief appeared to be reasonable, if he was not courteous. Duane told his story again, this time a little more in detail.
“I believe you,” replied Bland, at once. “Think I know when a fellow is lying.”
“I reckon you're on the right trail,” put in Euchre. “Thet about Luke wantin' his boots took off—thet satisfies me. Luke hed a mortal dread of dyin' with his boots on.”
At this sally the chief and his men laughed.
“You said Duane—Buck Duane?” queried Bland. “Are you a son of that Duane who was a gunfighter some years back?”
“Yes,” replied Duane.
“Never met him, and glad I didn't,” said Bland, with a grim humor. “So you got in trouble and had to go on the dodge? What kind of trouble?”
“Had a fight.”
“Fight? Do you mean gun-play?” questioned Bland. He seemed eager, curious, speculative.
“Yes. It ended in gun-play, I'm sorry to say,” answered Duane.