At the sudden gust the bartender looked around and growled. "Close that door! Pronto!"
The newcomer slammed it shut and leaned against the wall, rubbing at his eyelids and face, and shed sand at every movement.
The bartender slid a glass of water across the bar. "Here; wash it out. You'll only make 'em worse, rubbin'," he said as the other began rubbing his lips and spitting energetically.
Bill Long obeyed, nodded his thanks and glanced furtively at the door, and became less alert. "Much obliged. I didn't get all there was flyin', but I got a-plenty."
The dispenser of drinks smiled. "Lucky gettin' in out of it when you did."
"Yes," replied Bill, nervously. "Yes; plumb lucky. This will raise th' devil with th' scenery."
"Won't be a trail left," suggested the bartender, watching closely.
Bill glanced up quickly, sighed with satisfaction and then glanced hurriedly around the room. "Whose place is this?" he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
"Pecos Kane's," grunted the bartender, greatly pleased about something. His pleasure was increased by the quick look of relief which flashed across the other's face, and he chuckled. "Yo're all right in here."
"Yes," said Bill, and motioned toward a bottle. Gulping the drink he paid for it and then leaned over the counter. "Say, friend," he whispered anxiously, "if anybody comes around askin' for Bill Long, you ain't seen him, savvy?"
"Never even heard of th' gent," smiled the other.
