This rustler had fired his rifle three times during Jean's slow approach.

Jean watched and listened a few moments, then wormed himself closer and closer, until the man was within twenty steps of him.
Jean smelled tobacco smoke, but could see no light of pipe or cigarette, because the fellow's back was turned.
"Say, Ben," said this man to his companion sitting hunched up a few yards distant, "shore it strikes me queer thet Somers ain't shootin' any over thar." Jean recognized the dry, drawling voice of Greaves, and the shock of it seemed to contract the muscles of his whole thrilling body, like that of a panther about to spring..