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certainly better places to be right here in the Big Bend than on top of that mountain."
    "You know something, you got the lonelies tonight yourself."
    "Ay."
    "Well, then, let's do something together."
    "Oh, yes! Do you like to dance?"
    "Till the cows come home."
    "Then it's off to Armston's," she said, linking her arm through his and leading him back toward the dancehall.
    "Fine night, isn't it?" he asked her.
    "Fine and dandy," she assured him. "I have the feeling that anything could happen on a night like this."
    SIX
    They wheeled into Trail Street, seven of them riding abreast of each other, and a bystander marked the arrogance of that, the seizure of the right-of-way. He also noted the armament —not only revolvers but rifles in their saddles—and he watched them pass before he went his own way, uneasier than he had been a moment before.
    Rig Gruber signaled the party to a halt some fifty feet b efore the Glasgow.
    "Just you and me better go in to see Gibbons," he told L ou Kersh. "The rest of you spread yourselves in front of the place and wait."
    "I could use a drink, Rig," one of them complained.
    That's just what Hamp said, Mac, and Hamp ain't with us no more."
    Mac spit into the dust to show what he thought of that. Bat he held his seat while Gruber and Kersh dismounted, hitched reins to the rail and entered the saloon.
    "So you're back," Angus Mulchay said, the official gre eter. "And brought another bully-boy to test the ch am pion "
    The cold eyes of both gunmen studied him impassively, taking his measure. But whatever decision they came to was their own secret as they passed on toward the closed door without speaking. While Gruber knocked, Lou Kersh directed the same impersonal glance at the sprawled f orm of Hamp Leach. The door opened a crack, then G ib bons pulled it ajar and let them inside.
    "Where'd he go, Cap?" Gruber asked.
    "He's not at the bar?"
    "No."
    "Did you pass anybody coming in?"
    "Couple of families in wagons. No single rider his size."
    "Then he's still around," Gibbons said. "Let's go look him up."
    "One question," Kersh said. "What's so important about him, whoever he is?"
    "Whoever he is," Gibbons answered; "he shot and killed a militiaman on duty."
    Kersh was unimpressed by the army - like jargon.
    "Hamp drew, didn't he?" he asked dryly.
    "You're missing the point," Gibbons told him, his own voice testy. "We're an organization, all of us together, and what happens to one happens to all. Our reputation in this town and every other town depends on how we take care of our own men. Is that clear, mister?"
    "It'd be clearer," Kersh said, "if it were anybody but Hamp Leach."
    "Personalities don't enter into it. But. if you still need a reason to take this ranny, let me tell you that I think he could be from Austin."
    "That's a lot different," Kersh agreed. "Been expecting some trouble like that since we hit Laredo."
    "And this is the only way they could handle it. Most people don't realize it, but at fifty strong we're more than twice the size of all the Rangers put together."
    "So they send one at a time."
    Gibbons nodded. "And he's supposed to take as many of us as he can."
    Kersh smiled cynically. "Hard work for poor wages," he said. "Even the boys at Alamo got better odds than that."
    "And no boys have it better than Gibbons' militia," Gibbons told him. "Don't you forget it, Kersh."
    "No complaints, Captain."
    "Then let's flush this bird of ours." Gibbons opened the door and the three of them passed through into the saloon. Abruptly, Gibbons stopped. "For God's sake," he snapped at the remaining bartender, "are you going to leave this man's body here the whole night?" But the bartender shrugged his round shoulders. He only worked here, the gesture said; when Mr. Terhune got back, speak to him about it.
    "We bury our own dead, Black Jack Gibbons," Mulchay said then.
    "And you might be talking your way into a grave, old man," Gibbons told him, then switched his attention to Hamlin. "Isn't