announcement of Andrew Lanning's outlawry and the
picture of him. What picture would they take? The
old snapshot of the year before, which Jasper had taken?
No doubt that would be the one. But much as he yearned
to do so, he dared not search the wall. He stood up to
the bar and faced the bartender. The latter favored
him with one searching glance, and then pushed across
the whisky bottle.
How did he know that Andrew wanted whisky? The bartender knew at a glance he was not confronted with a government agent, but a "regular fellow" of the Western country. "Do you know me?" asked Andrew with surprise. And then he could have cursed his careless tongue.
"I know you're safe and need a drink," said the bartender, looking at Andrew again. Suddenly he grinned. "When a man's been dry that long he gets a hungry look around the eyes that I know. Hit her hard, boy."
Andrew brimmed his glass and tossed off the drink. And to his astonishment there was none of the shocking effect of his first drink of whisky. It stung his throat, it burned in his stomach for a moment, but it was like a drop of water tossed on a huge blotter. To his tired nerves the alcohol was a mere nothing. Besides, he dared not let it affect him. He filled a second glass, pushing across the bar one of the gold pieces of Henry Allister. Then, turning casually, he glanced along the wall. There were other notices up—many written ones—but not a single face looked back at him. All at once he grew weak with relief. But in the meantime he must talk to this fellow.
"What's the news?"
"What kind of news?"
