When the Captain ended his curt instructions to the guard and came
towards him, Bill showed a disposition to speak.

"Who's the kid?" he drawled companionably, while his fingers itched
upon the hammer, and the soul of him lusted for sight of the hole it
could make in the skull of the Captain. "I don't recollect seeing him
around town--and there ain't many faces I forget, either."

The Captain shot him a surprised look that was an unconscious tribute
to Bill's diplomatic art. But Bill's level glance would have disarmed
a keener man than Tom Perkins.

Perkins stopped. "Stranger, from what he said--though I've got my
doubts. Some crony of Allen's, I expect. It was him done the shooting;
the kid didn't have any gun on him. Allen didn't deny it, either."

"No--he's just bull-headed enough to tough it out," commented Bill.
"What was the row about--do yuh know?"

Perkins stiffened. "That," he said with some dignity, "will come out
at the trial. He killed Rawhide outright, and Texas Bill will die,
I reckon. The trial will show what kinda excuse he thought he had."
Having delivered himself, thus impartially and with malice towards
none, Perkins started on.

"Oh, say! You don't mind if I talk to 'em?" Bill gritted his teeth at
having to put the sentence in that favor-seeking tone, but he did it,
nevertheless.