"No; don't go, Sheriff," said Anastacio.

"I'm anxious to see if those two will recognize Ananias the Amateur.
They'll be here directly. You, either, Creagan. Else I'll shoot you
both in the back, accidentally, cleaning my gun."

From without was the sound of spurred feet in haste; three men
appeared at the open door.

"Why, if it ain't George! Good old George!" cried Pringle, rising
with outstretched arms. "And my dear friend Espalin! What a charming
reunion!"

Applegate's eyes threw a startled question at his chief and at
Creagan; Espalin slipped swiftly back through the door.

"I don't know you, sir," said Applegate.

"George! You're never going to disown me! Joe's gone, too. Nobody
loves me!"

The third man, a grizzled and bristly old warrior with a limp, broke
in with a roar.

"What in hell's going on here?" he stormed.

"You are, for one thing, if you don't moderate your voice," said
Anastacio. "Nueces, you bellow like the bulls of Bashan. Mr.
Applegate, meet Mr. Pringle."