CHAPTER 1.
VAUGHN STEELE AND RUSS SITTELL In the morning, after breakfasting early, I took a turn up and down the main street of Sanderson, made observations and got information likely to serve me at some future day, and then I returned to the hotel ready for what might happen.
The stage-coach was there and already full of passengers.

This stage did not go to Linrock, but I had found that another one left for that point three days a week.
Several cowboy broncos stood hitched to a railing and a little farther down were two buckboards, with horses that took my eye.

These probably were the teams Colonel Sampson had spoken of to George Wright.
As I strolled up, both men came out of the hotel.

Wright saw me, and making an almost imperceptible sign to Sampson, he walked toward me.
"You're the cowboy Russ ?" he asked.
I nodded and looked him over.

By day he made as striking a figure as I had noted by night, but the light was not generous to his dark face.
"Here's your pay," he said, handing me some bills.