He was young, seemingly about thirty-five, with shifty, insolent eyes and a hard mouth whose lips were just now curved into a self-conscious smile.
The rider had now approached to within fifty feet of the man, halting his pony at the extreme end of the hitching rail that skirted the front of the saloon.

He sat carelessly in the saddle, his gaze fixed on the man.
The men who had followed the first man out, to the number of a dozen, were apparently deeply interested, though plainly skeptical.

A short, fat man, who was standing near the saloon door, looked on with a half-sneer.

Several others were smiling blandly.

A tall man on the extreme edge of the crowd, near the rider, was watching the man in the street gravely.