whole length of the long block, meeting many people--farmers,
ranchers, clerks, merchants, Mexicans, cowboys, and women. It
was a singular fact that when he turned to retrace his steps
the street was almost empty. He had not returned a hundred
yards on his way when the street was wholly deserted. A few
heads protruded from doors and around corners. That main street
of Wellston saw some such situation every few days. If it was
an instinct for Texans to fight, it was also instinctive for
them to sense with remarkable quickness the signs of a coming
gun-play. Rumor could not fly so swiftly. In less than ten
minutes everybody who had been on the street or in the shops
knew that Buck Duane had come forth to meet his enemy.

Duane walked on. When he came to within fifty paces of a saloon
he swerved out into the middle of the street, stood there for a
moment, then went ahead and back to the sidewalk. He passed on
in this way the length of the block. Sol White was standing in
the door of his saloon.

"Buck, I'm a-tippin' you off," he said, quick and low-voiced.
"Cal Bain's over at Everall's. If he's a-huntin' you bad, as he
brags, he'll show there."

Duane crossed the street and started down. Notwithstanding
White's statement Duane was wary and slow at every door.
Nothing happened, and he traversed almost the whole length of
the block without seeing a person. Everall's place was on the
corner.

Duane knew himself to be cold, steady. He was conscious of a