The trotting horse had halted out there somewhere.

"Ho there, inside!" called a voice from the darkness.

"Ho yourself!" replied Anson.

"That you, Snake?" quickly followed the query.

"Reckon so," returned Anson, showing himself.

The newcomer entered. He was a large man, wearing a slicker
that shone wet in the firelight. His sombrero, pulled well
down, shadowed his face, so that the upper half of his
features might as well have been masked. He had a black,
drooping mustache, and a chin like a rock. A potential
force, matured and powerful, seemed to be wrapped in his
movements.

"Hullo, Snake! Hullo, Wilson!" he said. "I've backed out on
the other deal. Sent for you on -- on another little matter
... particular private."

Here he indicated with a significant gesture that Snake's
men were to leave the cabin.

"A-huh! ejaculated Anson, dubiously. Then he turned
abruptly. Moze, you an' Shady an' Burt go wait outside.
Reckon this ain't the deal I expected.... An' you can saddle
the hosses."