"Well," sighed the waitress, "you've had some luck in your life. Take a
cross between a bulldog and a mustang and a mountain-lion--that's Mac
Strann. He's in town, and he's here for killin'."

"You don't say, ma'am. And why don't they lock him up?"

"Because he ain't done nothin' yet to be locked up about. That's the way
with him. And when he does a thing he always makes the man he's after
pull his gun first. Smart? I'll say he's just like an Indian, that Mac
Strann!"

"But who's he after?"

"The feller that plugged his brother, Jerry."

"Kind of looks like he had reason for a killing, then."

"Nope. Jerry had it comin' to him. He was always raising trouble, Jerry
was. And this time, he pulled his gun first. Everybody seen him."

"He run into a gunman?"

"Gunman?" she laughed heartily. "Partner, if it wasn't for something
funny about his eyes, I wouldn't be no more afraid of that gunman than I
am of a tabby-cat. And me a weak woman. The quietest lookin' sort that
ever come to Brownsville. But there's something queer about him. He
knows that Mac Strann is here in town. He knows that Mac Strann is
waiting for Jerry to die. He knows that when Jerry dies Mac will be out
for a killin'. And this here stranger is just sittin' around and waitin'