I'm goin' to string him a few when he comes out." Mose's breath was very short as he posted his letter, for trouble was in the air.

He tried his revolvers to see that they were free in their holsters, and wiped the sweat from his hands and face with his big bandanna.

He entered into conversation with the storekeeper, hoping the belligerent gang would ride away.

They had no such intention, but went into a saloon next door to drink, keeping watch for Mose.

One of them, a slim, consumptive-chested man, grew drunk first.