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A stud game was going on in the barroom when they entered, and O'Neil paused to watch it while Slater spoke to one of the players, a clean-cut, blond youth of whimsical countenance. When the two friends finally faced the bar for their "nightcap" Tom explained: "That's Appleton, the fellow Gordon fired to-day. I told him I'd left the old man flat." "Is he a friend of yours?" "Sure.
My friends simply say 'Kid, but to my enemies I'm The Wolf!" The stranger's crisp words had their effect, since "Kid Wolf" was a name well known west of the Chisholm Trail. His reputation had been passed by word of mouth along the border until there were few who had not heard of his deeds. His very name seemed to fill the riffraff of the barroom with courage.
And when he turned and walked with his light, soundless step down the length of the silent barroom, the wolf-dog slunk at his heels, ever and anon swinging his head over his shoulder and glancing back at the giant at the end of the room. As the door closed on man and dog, the saloon broke once more into murmur, and then into an excited clamoring.
And then, at about three o'clock, in the barroom of the Plaza, he heard a discordant voice at his elbow. He saw men crowding, jostling one another to get away from the spot where he stood crouching, pale of face, their eyes on him. It made him feel that he was the center of interest, and he wheeled, staggering a little for he had drunk much more than he had intended to see what had happened.
"Served the rascal right," said the landlord. "Who is he?" "The black-whiskered man who was in the barroom last night," said Herbert. "I remember now; he asked particularly where you were to sleep you and the old gentleman but I did not suspect his purpose." "I did," said Herbert, "and kept awake to be ready for him." "You are a brave lad." "I only did my duty," said Herbert, modestly.
He seemed genuinely regretful, and said: "As a matter of fact, I'm laying off men just now; you see the rush is pretty well over with." Harold went over to the Great Western Hotel and hung about the barroom, hoping to meet some one he knew, even though there was a certain risk of being recognized as Black Mose.
Every one chattered, argued, discussed, disputed, applauded, from the gentleman lounging upon the barroom settee with his tumbler of sherry-cobbler before him down to the waterman who got drunk upon his "knock-me-down" in the dingy taverns of Fell Point. About two A.M., however, the excitement began to subside.
The speaker paused, glanced around the bright, comfortable barroom, the shining array of glasses beyond, and the circle of complacent faces fronting the stove, on which his own boots were cheerfully steaming, lifted a glass of whiskey from the floor under his chair, and in spite of his deprecating remark, took a long draught of the spirits with every symptom of satisfaction.
Sanderson remembered what Owen had told him concerning his appetite for strong liquor, he remembered, too, that Owen was in possession of a secret which, if divulged, would deliver Mary Bransford into the hands of her enemies. Sanderson's blood rioted with rage and disgust. He crossed the barroom and stood behind Owen. The latter did not see him.
An hour afterward Curly staggered from the hotel barroom dismissed by his fickle friends, whose interest in him had subsided as quickly as it had risen. Full stoked with alcoholic fuel and cargoed with food, the only question remaining to disturb him was that of shelter and bed.
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