the type that goes into action better after a wordy skirmish.
"An' what'll I be doin' all that time?" he asked.
"Four-flushin', as usual," answered Red.
Hollister laughed but his laugh was drowned by the rest. He had not yet recovered his partisans. They were becoming more their normal selves with each sup of liquor but they were still ready to laugh at Hollister, not wait to laugh with him. He glanced uncertainly at Jackson, then at Sheridan, who was close to him on the opposite side from Red. Their eyes were blank, their faces unmoved, stony. Why had they always managed to get the better of him? So far.
He called for a drink from a comrade who had not finished his share of the stuff that Vasquez had sold them. It added to the rising flood of resentment within him, gave him more assurance. Under cover of returning the flask, he pushed ahead of the two men from the Circle S. Soon they would come to the Metzal end of the Gap and the party would split.
"The big one," said Hollister, after still another borrowed aid to bravado, "ought to be in a side-show. She's a reg'lar freak. Still, the two of 'em might do a sister-act in vodeville. Fiddlin' an' whistlin'. The little 'un wouldn't look so bad in tights. I was noticin'"
The sorrel mare felt the prick of sudden spurs, sharper than usual. With the roan, she leaped forward, shouldering aside a rider who was forced into the creek, swearing, but stopping his curses at the
