These men, with Bostil, had for years formed in a way a club, which gave the Ford distinction.

Creech was no longer a friend of Bostil's, but Bostil had always been fair-minded, and now he did not allow his animosities to influence him.

Holley, the veteran rider, made the sixth member of the club.
Bostil had a cedar log blazing cheerily in the wide fireplace, for these early spring nights in the desert were cold.
Brackton was the last guest to arrive.

He shuffled in without answering the laconic greetings accorded him, and his usually mild eyes seemed keen and hard.
"John, I reckon you won't love me fer this here I've got to tell you, to-night specially," he said, seriously.
"You old robber, I couldn't love you anyhow," retorted Bostil.

But his humor did not harmonize with the sudden gravity of his look.