“Wal, glad to see you ain't so pale about the gills as you was,” he said, by way of greeting. “Pitch in an' we'll soon have grub ready. There's shore one consolin' fact round this here camp.”
“What's that?” asked Duane.
“Plenty of good juicy beef to eat. An' it doesn't cost a short bit.”
“But it costs hard rides and trouble, bad conscience, and life, too, doesn't it?”
“I ain't shore about the bad conscience. Mine never bothered me none. An' as for life, why, thet's cheap in Texas.”
“Who is Bland?” asked Duane, quickly changing the subject. “What do you know about him?”
“We don't know who he is or where he hails from,” replied Euchre. “Thet's always been somethin' to interest the gang. He must have been a young man when he struck Texas. Now he's middle-aged. I remember how years ago he was soft-spoken an' not rough in talk or act like he is now. Bland ain't likely his right name. He knows a lot. He can doctor you, an' he's shore a knowin' feller with tools. He's the kind thet rules men. Outlaws are always ridin' in here to join his gang, an' if it hadn't been fer the gamblin' an' gun-play he'd have a thousand men around him.”
“How many in his gang now?”
“I reckon there's short of a hundred now. The number varies. Then Bland has several small camps up an' down the river. Also he has men back on the cattle-ranges.”
“How does he control such a big force?” asked Duane. “Especially when his band's composed of bad men. Luke Stevens said he had no use for Bland. And I heard once somewhere that Bland was a devil.”